


Dagor Dagorath

by Glorfindel



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Betrayal, Death, Epic, Final Battle, Future, Humour, Loss, Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-21
Updated: 2012-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-31 13:29:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 28,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/344534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glorfindel/pseuds/Glorfindel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sauron faces Manwë after his defeat in the Ring War. Manwë is of the opinion that Sauron could have led a different life if Melkor had not led him astray. He sends Sauron to be reborn in England, to all intents and purposes as a human. He has also removed his memory of who he used to be.</p><p>Sauron’s life is beset by early tragedy, but he also finds love and takes the opportunity to be who he wants to be. Nothing lasts forever; Manwë has a job for Sauron, one which literally could tip the balance of good and evil, thus affecting the final outcome of the approaching Dagor Dagorath. It will also mean the end of the world as Sauron knows it.</p><p>Will Sauron be able to fulfil Manwë’s command? On which side will Sauron fight in the final battle? More importantly, will Sauron be reunited with his dead human lover, and who is he really? Read and you will find out!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I thought he loved me....

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Dagor Dagorath  
> Author : Chaotic_Binky  
> Fandom: Lord of the Rings  
> Artist: Erulisse - Sandra Graves, Isis Rising  
> Artistic Endeavors with Wings of Light  
> http://www.IsisRising08.com (artwork) and http://erulissedances.livejournal.com (fiction)http://engarian.deviantart.com/  
> Characters: Sauron/Mairon, Glorfindel, Jesse, Námo, Manwë, plus a whole glittering cast of Valar, Maiar, Elves, and men.  
> Beta: Keiliss – thank you for doing such a great job :D  
> Rating: NC_17  
> Disclaimer: I write for personal enjoyment and not profit, therefore I make no money and do not seek any reward. All rights belong to Tolkien.  
> 

 

 

**Dagor Dagorath**

**By**

**Chaotic_Binky**

 

[](http://s176.photobucket.com/albums/w181/chaotic_binky/OEAM/?action=view&current=DagorDagorath.jpg)  


 

  **“A myriad of men are born; they labour and sweat and struggle;...they squabble and scold and fight; they scramble for little mean advantages over each other; age creeps upon them; infirmities follow; ...those they love are taken from them, and the joy of life is turned to aching grief. It (the release) comes at last—the only unpoisoned gift earth ever had for them—and they vanish from a world where they were of no consequence...a world which will lament them a day and forget them forever.”** Mark Twain, shortly before his death.

 

 

 

“The problem with you, Sauron, is that you are not really all that evil. Are you?” Manwë said disapprovingly. I watched him run his fingers along the back of an ornately carved chair. He graced me with a smile that did not reach his eyes; they continued to sneer.

 

The Valar seized my soul when the One Ring dissolved in the lava of Mount Doom and now I found myself before the mightiest of them. I was bound in chains and fastened to the wall, while Lord Manwë made a great show of walking before me, no doubt enjoying his puerile ability to do so.

 

“I am sorry to disappoint,” I replied. I was not being particularly brave. Manwë had already threatened to crush me in his grip, as easily as a child could break a stick of rotting wood, and I had nothing left to lose. There was nothing left of my existence that made me want to hold onto life, and for that very reason I knew he would not fulfil his promised course of action.

 

How weary I was. Nothing but failure filled my heart. For so many years I tried to please Melkor and failed. When he was thrown into the Void, my heart broke, and yet it should not have done. I was merely a pawn and he did not love me. In the end, he would have betrayed my heart and destroyed my very being. Everything I believed in, and all my actions in support of him, were for nothing. I knew that at the time, but it did not matter; I loved him and always hoped.

 

“I wonder what we are to do with you.” Manwë sighed and stared hard into my eyes. “You failed as a Maia and you also failed yourself. We had such high hopes for you, before you were corrupted by Melkor. What is it that you found so attractive about him?”

 

“I thought he loved me. It was a feeling I had not felt before. It felt good.” There was no use lying to him. He knew my every thought and his questions were academic at best. My mind was naked and there was nothing about me that he did not already know.

 

"Is love all that it boiled down to?" Manwë asked.

 

"Love, or the hope to one day be again in that state with Melkor, was at the root cause of all my plans and actions. Before I caught his eye I was bored, directionless and desolate. He gave my life meaning." Manwë knew all this anyway; he just wanted to hear it from my lips.

 

"But why Melkor?"

 

"Because there was no one else."

 

Manwë regarded me thoughtfully. He looked into my face with furrowed brow. "It occurs to me that if you had found love elsewhere your inclinations would have been completely different. Do you agree?"

 

"Without a doubt. But what is done, is done."

 

In truth, I did not regret any of my actions. There is no finer feeling than love, and I will not lament the events of my past life just because it was perceived by others to be a failure. The three races of Middle-earth did not know how to live in peace and neither did they want to. I gave them what they wanted and fulfilled their longing for battle. The elves were the worst; they profess to love peace, yet when I was defeated they found themselves without aim. If they were not fighting me, they were fighting each other. Perhaps that is why they went to Valinor after my defeat. Maybe they saw the chance to start wars over there, now they had exhausted Middle-earth. I had no sympathy for them.

 

"I agree that there is no turning back; however, the future has not happened yet and the direction can always be changed." Manwë released me from my chains with a flick of his hand. They dissolved into thin air and I was left standing before him. "I am going to give you another chance."

 

I had no idea what he had in store for me and it seemed that my future was bleak whatever the course of action he decided. "I have no doubt that I will disappoint you again. I am sick of being used as a pawn, just let me die."

 

Manwë laughed. "Why should I let you die? Why should I let you have anything you want? What I offer is greater, not that you deserve any consideration at all. In a way, you will have died, but you will still be alive."

 

"Am I to be thrown into the Void?" It was the only place I feared and would certainly be a living death.

 

"You will see," Manwë replied enigmatically, or as close as he could achieve the expression.

 

Everything went dark. I could not see and felt myself shrinking. After that I remembered no more for many years.

 

 

 

 


	2. Injustice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mairon's world crashes around him.

 

 

 

Manwë was right, in a way I had died because I had no memory of my life as Sauron; however, I was granted a new life, and it was one that was worth living. Looking back, now that it is over, I know that it was a period of transformation for myself. There was love and heartbreak and all the emotions that occur in between. In spite of the pain I often endured, I would live every single day of it again. It is this story, and the eventual conclusion, that I will record on sheets of parchment, to be kept for a day that I might forget. It is not a cautionary tale because I was never one to learn from such things. Rather, it is a justification of my life as Sauron, because without that period in my life it would not have been necessary to live a new one.

 

I do not remember being born, but I do remember being a child. My early years were spent in London, in a large, white-stuccoed house, overlooking a park. My father was a physicist and spent many hours studying at home after spending all day at work. My mother was also in that line of work and studying for her Ph.D. Needless to say, we had a closer relationship with our nanny than with either of our parents. This is not to say that they neglected my elder brother and me, because they did not. They spent as much time with us as they could; indeed, one of my earliest memories was of my father holding me on his lap while he wrote impossible equations at breathtaking speed. At the bottom of the page, with a flourish, he wrote, ‘Done!’

 

I was tiny, barely able to stand on my own. My father stood me up, so my feet were on his lap, and told me that he had finished for the day. I chuckled because I was tiny child and everything he said amused me. "I have invented a new theory," he told me as he rubbed his nose against mine to make me giggle. "Now I have to try to disprove it, but I think it will be very hard to do. Still, that is for another day. You and I have worked hard enough." I had actually done no work but that was his sense of humour. "Let's go and play in the garden."

 

He took me outside and put me in the baby swing. It was especially made for children who were too small to use a normal one. I have no idea where my elder brother was at the time. All I remember was swinging for what seemed like ages, before it started raining and we had to go inside.

 

My mother was tall and blonde, as was my father. She was always immaculately groomed and made sure we were as well. Presentation was very important to her and we had to be just so. We looked an odd family; I was the only one with dark hair in a sea of pale blond. The fact that my hair was black did not cause any consternation though. My mother would sometimes say that I ‘had my father's eyes’. Sometimes they would chat about what relative I must have inherited my dark haired genes from, making up all sorts of people from their pasts and laughing much because of it. While my mother was of a more serious nature than my father, she knew the value of other, more frivolous emotions. While holding my brother and me close on her lap, she would tell us bedtime tales, mostly originating from her native Bavaria, that were lurid and filled with gore, enjoying every moment of our wide-eyed wonder and apprehension. They were great stories and we loved them.

 

One day in 1965, just before my fifth birthday, my father told my brother and me that we were to have a new brother or sister. Our mother had been taken to hospital in a big ambulance during the night while we were asleep.

 

My seven-year-old brother told my father that neither of us wanted a new sister. He looked at me for confirmation and I nodded.

 

"We do not get a choice in these things," my father laughed. "Let's go outside and kick some leaves."

 

It was autumn. My brother and I raced around kicking leaves that had fallen from the trees until we were out of breath. My father took huge handfuls of leaves from the pile that he had raked earlier and chased us around the garden, shouting that the leaf monster was going to get us. My legs were smaller than my brother’s and I tired quicker. My father picked me up and we watched my brother kicking the pile of leaves as far as he could over the lawn.

 

That was one of my last happy memories of him. The last memory I had of my mother was at bedtime when she told us the tale of the little matchgirl. We were tucked up in bed and she kissed us, before turning out the light and leaving the room. That night she went to the hospital, while we slept. I never did see my baby sister.

 

My brother and I were left at home with our nanny, while my father drove off to collect my mother and our new baby sister from the hospital. On the way home, while driving across a junction, a car smashed into them from the side. My father was killed instantly, as was my sister. My mother took a further two days to die. The drunk driver, who murdered half my family, spent a year in prison and was banned from driving for five years. I still feel the sense of injustice.

 

 

 


	3. Uncle John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mairon is in a children's home, but is claimed by his Uncle - his dead father's twin brother.

 

 

In the 1960’s no one thought twice about splitting a family up. My mother’s sister took my brother as a companion to her own child, who was the same age. She did not want me because, apparently, I did not seem, ‘a happy sort.’ It was years before I saw my brother again; he was under the impression that I was dead, because that is what he had been told. He said that he was never allowed to forget her ‘kindness’ in taking him to live with her family, even though the trust fund managing his inheritance paid her handsomely for doing so. In comparison, I fared much better.

 

Social Services placed me in a children’s home until my father’s brother could be contacted. We had hardly any relatives. My mother’s parents had died ten years after the Second World War, when their light aeroplane crashed, and my father’s parents disappeared the previous year, while on safari in Africa. My father’s parents were hardy, indomitable types and always knew better than their guides, even if they had never visited that particular location before. They had travelled most of the world in that way, writing travel books as they did so, and, according to records released by the Freedom of Information Act fifty years later, they were spying for the British Government as well. It is thought that they might have been eaten by lions but the truth is probably more prosaic than that. It is not unlikely that they died of malaria or some parasitic disease, or even that their guides killed them. I met my grandparents several times before they went missing; if I had been one of their guides I would have been sorely tempted to do away with them.

 

A few weeks later, I was called into the office of the man who ran the home. He wore round glasses and a brown tweed suit. The air smelt musty and the winter sun shone through the window. One of the workers told me, on the way, that I was going to meet my uncle and he would be taking care of me. I would go to live in his house and be a good, well behaved little boy.

 

I walked into the room and saw my father. I ran up to him and hugged him hard. “Everyone said you were dead and I would not see you again,” I cried.

 

My uncle picked me up and held me close. “I am your Uncle John, little one. Do you know what that means?”

 

I nodded. He looked like my dad and his smile was exactly the same. They even had the same hair colour; although the style was slightly different.

 

“I am your father’s brother. We look exactly the same because we are twins. Were twins, I meant to say.” He seemed kind, but everything was still such a shock. I continued to cry and he held me closer still, telling me softly of the lovely place where he lived and how happy I would be.

 

I did not want to leave my old home, where I was born, but it was not an option and, in any case, I had already moved on, whether I liked it or not. The man who ran the home told me that I was a very lucky boy indeed because someone wanted to take care of me and that I should cheer up immediately. He exuded false jollity and sighed when I would not heed his direction. He had horrible breath and his teeth were stained a dark yellow.

 

We left the office and my uncle drove us to the family home. We walked around the house and he told me to collect my toys so they could be sent abroad to my new home.

 

“We will take as much as we can,” he told me. “It is important to keep things so that we do not forget.”

 

We climbed the stairs and went to the bedroom that I once shared with my brother; the beds were stripped bare.

 

“My brother has left his toys,” I said, thinking that we should collect them up and send them to him.

 

“I do not think he has left them,” my uncle replied. “I think, perhaps, that he was not allowed to take them.” He opened a cupboard drawer. “His clothing is gone.” He looked around and sighed. “Let us take your brother’s toys and you can give them to him when you see him again.”

 

My uncle employed a removal company to empty the house. Everything was shipped across Europe to the country where he lived. Apart from my personal possessions, everything was put into secure storage until the day I wanted to take it back. He kept my parents’ legal papers, personal writings and work in his own walk in safe, considering it a safer place to keep them. They were in several files and stored on a shelf with my name on. I asked that my brother’s toys be placed in there as well and he agreed.

 

 

 


	4. A New Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mairon's Uncle takes him to live in Greece.

We travelled by plane to Athens and then on by bus and a small boat to Kos, the island where he lived. The boatman and Uncle spoke in a language that I could not understand. My uncle assured me that I would soon get the hang of it.

We walked up the beach to a large, white house. Behind were tall mountains and to the right, but quite far away, were much lower ones. They looked a dark blue green interspersed with beige. Uncle said they looked like that because of the rigani bushes growing on the slopes and the beige was the ground they grew upon.

My bedroom was larger than the one I had shared with my brother. In the middle of the room stood a large double bed. On the right side wall there was a large window with shutters for use at night. Next to the window stood a chest of drawers, with a wardrobe near the corner. The adjoining wall, in front of the bed, consisted, for the most part, of two ornate French doors that led out to a metal-roofed balcony, with a tall balustrade that would thwart any child’s attempts to climb over it. The floor of my bedroom extended out past the walls to form the floor of the balcony. Behind the bed was a plain wall with a door leading to the hallway. The left hand wall was covered with polished wooden bookshelves. Most of my toys were stored there, as well as a few children’s books. My paintings were fixed to the wall along with those of my brother’s. A traditional cream flokati rug covered the marble floor.

“Look, if we go out onto the balcony you can see the Aegean sea,” my uncle told me. “This room is on a corner, so it is filled with light during the day. At night you can keep the doors open and see the stars. My room is next door. You can reach me by going out onto the balcony and knocking at the door, or you can go through the door that leads to the hall and knock on my bedroom door that way.”

“I do not know if I want to keep the doors open at night. A wolf might come into my bedroom and eat me.” I looked earnestly at my uncle’s raised eyebrows. “Mummy told me a story about a wolf that ate a granny in her bed. Little Red Riding Hood killed the wolf and rescued her granny from the wolf’s belly. He came in through the window.” That was proof enough for me.

“Was it a Brothers Grimm story?”

“Yes!” I replied. “Have you heard the story as well?”

“Yes, my mother told me the same story when I was a child. It is only a story and never really happened. You will be perfectly safe keeping the doors open. There are no wolves on this island.”

“What about bears?”

“No bears.”

“What about tigers and lions?”

My uncle picked me up and laughed. “There are no harmful animals on this island. No matter how hard you look, you will not find one.”

“What about killer monkeys then? Ones that you think are good, but really they are wicked and horrible?”

My uncle laughed loudly. “You are precious.” He walked to the door. “We will go and see my bedroom and the rest of the house, so you always know where you are. I would not want you to get lost.”

My uncle’s bedroom was furnished much like mine but was larger and had more wardrobes and cupboards. His glass door fronted bookshelf extended all the way along the wall that adjoined my room and it was filled with books. Then, I thought that he must read a lot, but now I know better. It did not occur to me then, or for years after, what excellent soundproofing a wall of books makes.


	5. A Idyllic Childhood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mairon grows from a child to an adult and is legally adopted by Uncle John.

 

 

 

My uncle and I spent the rest of the week together, visiting the local village several times. We sat at a table outside a taverna, drinking limonade and eating baklava. He knew all the villagers and they made a fuss of me, saying how handsome I looked and how pleased they were to meet me. We visited Kos Town and I chose decorations for my bedroom. Uncle bought candied fruits and various food stuffs from the market; he had a list that the cook had given him. We stopped at a restaurant and ate moussaka with salad, followed by segments of watermelon.

 

“Uncle,” I said shyly. “I am having a really lovely time. Thank you.”

 

The pleasure on his face was enormous.

 

I grew up on that island. My uncle encouraged me to form friendships with the local children and they taught me to speak Greek. We would run around until late into the evening, barefooted and with the minimum of clothing, quickly discarding our t-shirts on the beach when we ran into the sea. On Sundays we dressed properly and went to church. Old ladies in black would stand at the front and reverentially kiss the icons of St Paraskevi. Often, the children would be encouraged to do so as well, including me.

 

“Will I catch germs?” I whispered to my smiling uncle the first time a wizened old lady tried to lead me away by the hand during the saint day of St Paraskevi.

 

“Probably,” my uncle grinned. “But what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

 

“My uncle wants to kiss the icon as well,” I said loudly to the old lady.

 

She smiled widely, took hold of his hand and dragged us both to the icons. My uncle was too polite to refuse.

 

They were happy times. Sometimes I forgot that my uncle was not my dad and occasionally called him as such. One day he said that I could call him that if I felt more comfortable doing so, and so I did. I found out much later that he was already trying to adopt me. My aunt, no doubt seduced by the size of my trust fund, which my uncle never touched, had mounted a legal bid to adopt me also. On her side was that she was married and she had already adopted my brother. My uncle was not impressed and I heard him arguing loudly with her down the telephone, accusing her of wanting me only because the trustees of my brother’s fund had denied her any further access to his inheritance. She had used the allotted monies provided by my parents’ will, a generous amount by any standard, and wanted more. My uncle told her that he would gladly take my brother to live with us and she refused. I believed then that it was out of spite, but later I found she had told my brother that I was dead. She would also have to admit to my brother that I was very much alive and thus he would know her for a liar.

 

My uncle started a legal action in Greece that blocked me from being removed from the country. He could do little else; the courts in England were not sympathetic to unmarried men, no matter how well off they were. Greek officials held the same views, but occasionally they could be persuaded to think otherwise. It helped as well that the judge’s son was a friend of my uncle’s. Even if my aunt was granted adoption of me, it would not be legal in Greece and she would be arrested if she tried to take me out of the country. In the end, she gave up. My uncle was of the opinion that she ran out of money.

 

When I was ten, the legal papers came through from the London Courts. My uncle signed them and sent them back. He insisted that I watch him do it because it was my life that would be affected by his decision. Two months later the legalities were complete and my dad gave me my certificate of adoption, my birth certificate and a UK passport. He told me to keep them in the safe, on my shelf, because I would need them in the future.

 

Looking back, I know that I felt relief at the time but was not aware of it. My life did not change. I still played with the local children, went to the village school and had private tutors on Saturdays because my uncle suspected that I was gifted. He would stay in his study, the French doors opened out onto the beach, plodding away on an old black typewriter. He wrote best selling detective stories under an assumed name and more moderately received books on philosophy under his real one. My life was one that every child should have, it was blissful and carefree and I was lucky to have had it.

 

We had a succession of guests connected with his work and otherwise. My dad knew a lot of people. Some of our visitors were famous and their arrival would stir the curiosity of the locals. Sometimes a guest would spend the night in his room. I knew nothing of this until I saw a man in my uncle’s bed. I had burst into his room, screaming after a nightmare, and seen him there.

 

“Silly David,” Dad grinned. “He fell asleep while I was talking about philosophy, so I tucked him up because I did not want to disturb him. I fear I bored him into a slumber.”

 

I had no reason not to trust him and took his words at face value; however, in time it did occur to me that quite a few men fell asleep in his bedroom. I did suggest once that he talk about something else but he laughed himself silly without ever explaining why. Over the years, though, he became much more discreet.

 

Everything comes to an end. I did so well in my final examinations that I could choose where I wanted to study.

 

“Part of becoming an adult is breaking away from your parents,” my dad told me. “You should try to live independently and you are in the lucky position of being able to do that.”

 

“How will I be able to afford living elsewhere? Does my trust fund come up this year?” I asked. “It sounds like you want to get rid of me.”

 

“I do not want to get rid of you. I want you to grow, from the child you are, into a man and that can only be done by breaking free of your parent. Your trust fund will become yours when you are thirty. I have never touched a penny of the allowance that your parents provided, because I do not need the money and I want you to have the most advantageous start in life. That money stayed in your fund and it forms a significant proportion of it. Your advantage is that you still own half your parent’s house. It was never sold. The terms of the will forbade it until you and your brother were in a position to decide what you wanted to do with it. You could live there if you went to university in London. This is your home as well, so I expect you to return in the holidays.”

 

“Sorry,” I said, still not feeling happy about the situation. “I thought you did not want me to live here anymore.”

 

“When I went to university, my parents made me go to one at least two days travel away. The courses my brother and I followed were not taught at the same place, so we went to different universities. I had a lot of fun and you could too. Of course, I would not want you to stay away for too long. I will miss my boy and might even have to visit you.”

 

After much discussion we agreed that our separation would not be forever and that I could always return home if I really could not stand living away. My father suggested applying for a London university and living in the old London home. I was accepted into Imperial College as a medical student; it seemed the best of a bewildering array of courses and as my father pointed out, doctors would always be needed, so unemployment would not be an issue in a forthcoming age where computers were threatening to take over so much of what we do.

 

During the summer, my father commissioned decorators, repairmen and interior designers to revamp the old house. There was quite a bit of damage caused by letting it out over the years. I had no idea my father had used the house for that purpose, or that the money made went into an account held in my name. That money more than funded my extravagant lifestyle through university; although, my father paid for the course fees and air fares back home out of his own pocket. He also bought me a car, one that he said would be a ‘girl magnet’. He looked at me knowingly and shrugged, “Or boy magnet. Whatever you prefer.”

 

I said nothing. Not because I did not want to, but I was unsure myself of where my leanings lay.

 

 

 


	6. Jesse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mairon meets the one he will love forever

 

 

After six years I qualified as a doctor. Most found the course hard going but it all seemed to come naturally to me. All of my essays were written the night before they were due to be handed in and I did the minimum of study. It was as though I already knew the workings of bodies in the minutest detail. The insides of bodies did not surprise me and even sights that would turn the stomach of a more experienced person did not have any sort of effect. Somewhere, I had seen it all before. This unnerved me and I wondered why I always felt that I was not seeing anything new. It was as though I was already inured to the sights that would seek to assault my eyes.

 

My father said that I must have been meant to be a doctor and that my intelligence was inherited from my parents. He was being modest, because he was also highly intelligent, but that was his way, and mine too.

 

After spending two years working in a hospital, after graduating, I was advised to train in surgery because I showed an especial aptitude for it. I had nothing else to do. I rang my dad and told him; he sounded drunk and I heard a man calling to him in the background.

 

“Are you having a party?” I asked naively.

 

“You could say that,” he replied with a chuckle. “When are you coming home?”

 

“I am training to be a surgeon. So it will be a few years yet before I can come back for good.”

 

“Oh. Oh well. You have to do what is best for your life.” The disappointment in his voice cut through me.

 

“Is everything all right?”

 

“Everything is fine,” Dad replied. “I am in good health and doing well. The books are selling well.”

 

“I miss you.”

 

“I miss you too.” He said it so softly, I wanted to get on the first plane and ease his loneliness. I knew what it was to lose one’s family and I had made the transition from nephew to son many years before.

 

“I am taking a holiday soon. You will see me next month.”

 

My father’s voice brightened considerably. “Good. I will see you then. I look forward to it.”

 

I went back to Greece and my dad was overjoyed to see me. He held a celebration, inviting the local people, all of whom knew me as a child. It was a wonderful night full of feasting and dancing. We spent happy hours fishing, eating out and windsurfing. I went back to London feeling refreshed and promising to visit later in the year.

 

The following week I fell in love. The most beautiful human who ever existed in the past, and certainly the future, pulled off his blood covered scrubs and hat. He saw me staring at his long blond hair and smiled.

 

“I am new,” he said with an easy smile. “I haven’t seen you around here. Are you new too?”

 

“No. I have just returned from visiting my father. He lives in Greece.” I was nearly tongue tied at his stunning physical appearance and I wondered if he was just as beautiful in mind.

 

“I went to Mykonos last year,” he said and licked his lips. “When I got home I thought I would never walk again. Too much drink or too much sex; I wonder which it was that made me feel like that.” He laughed and said he suspected it was a combination of both.

 

I smiled. “My name is Mairon.”

 

“My name is Jesse,” he said and shook my hand. “Good to meet you.”

 

“Isn’t that a girl’s name?” I teased. Something inside myself had connected with him. I felt it and I knew he did too; otherwise I would never have been so forward.

 

“Only if you are a girl,” he replied, rising to the challenge. “It is according to how you say it as well. No stress on the e at the end.  More Jess than Jessie. Anyway, Mairon is more of a girly name than Jesse.”

 

“No it is not. It is slightly less girly. About that much.” I held my thumb and forefinger one inch apart and grinned.

 

“Your fingers are too wide apart.” He winked and gave me a wide smile.

 

“You are the one with the long blond hair,” I sniggered. “No one would mistake me from behind.” My hair was down to my shoulders but his was halfway down his back.

 

“Yes, and I look damned good. In fact, my entire behind looks good.” He flicked his hair as if he was a supermodel and laughed loudly. His laugh was so infectious that I joined in with him. His humour was refreshing and so unlike the bitchy and unhappy repartee that our workmates engaged in.

 

“Have you just moved here?”

 

He nodded. “Just moved here from Oxford; went to university there and worked for a couple of years in the local hospital. It is a nicer place than here, but this is better for my career.”

 

“Live local?”

 

“I am living with my parents until I find a place to live. I won’t be there much anyway, thankfully; not with these shifts. What about you?”

 

“I trained here and live about half an hour away in my parents’ old house.”

 

Our jobs were intense and we worked long hours. Forty-eight hour shifts with a day’s break were common then. One could work a ninety-six hour week without anyone higher up batting an eyelid that we were so overworked. Of course, if we killed anyone, or made a catastrophic drug error, we were on our own; the higher ups refusing to concede that we were so tired we could not think properly. It would be many years before that state of affairs changed, but for now that was our lot. Had I known at the start of my medical training, I would have followed another course entirely.

 

Occasionally, the hospital we worked in would calm down overnight. There was never enough time to sleep but we could catch something to eat and drink a strong coffee.

 

The night was still and warm. Stars twinkled in the sky and the moon shone over the gardens at the front of the hospital. Jesse bought coffee for us both and we ate sandwiches from the canteen.

 

“I hate tomatoes in sandwiches. It always makes the bread wet,” Jesse complained as he threw the tomato slices over the lawn. He took the band from his hair and shook it loose. “That feels good.” It looked good too.

 

We were playing the delicate dance that men play when they want one another. He knew my eyes were watching him and I knew he looked at me. We had known one another for less than a week but we were already pushing boundaries.

 

“Do you live on your own?” he asked. The first question in assessing whether I am lover material. Things like that were important in the ‘80’s; we did not have the same freedoms of speech that came thirty years later and gay men and women were often subjected to abuse with no recourse within the law. Speaking wisely and using discretion was everything then.

 

“I live in a big white house overlooking a park and I share with three cats, who are under the impression they own the place and that I am their servant.”

 

“No girlfriends?” The second question.

 

I shook my head and laughed. “You have yet to hear the gossip about me. I ask you; who would go out with any of the women in this place?” There were only whispered suspicions about me, at that moment, mainly because I never flirted with any of the nurses. If you want a malicious rumour around a whole hospital, within half an hour, just imply a suggestion to a nurse, stressing it should be in confidence. They have networks of such rapid efficiency that MI5 would give their eye teeth to achieve the same degree of effectiveness. Non-malicious rumours tended to travel with less swiftness.

 

Jesse nodded and smiled. “I have heard the gossip. Want to go for a drink at the end of the shift?”

 

We did go for a drink and ended up at my house. As soon as we entered the hallway, Jesse kissed me full on. One arm held me close while the other swept up my back. I was equally as enthusiastic. I tasted his mouth, his scent, and felt the muscles rippling across his back while holding him close.

 

“I have wanted this since I first saw you,” he breathed urgently. His fingers stroked one of my ears and he looked surprised. “You have pointed ears.”

 

“It is congenital. I have no idea who I inherited them from.”

 

“You are like one of those characters in that book. They have pointed ears. I read it when I was a kid.” He ran a teasing lick to the point. “What’s it called...I know...Lord of the Rings. You must be an elf.”

 

“I most certainly am not,” I laughed. “I would not know what the book is about; I have never read it.”

 

Jesse leaned forward, pinning me against the wall. “I am going to be lord of your ring tonight.”

 

“I am going to be lord of yours too.”

 

“You talk too much. Where is your bed?”

 

“I have to feed the cats.”

 

“Feed them later,” Jesse said, his eyes alight with desire and longing.

 

All three cats hissed in reply. We looked over at them. They sat in line behind us looking displeased.

 

“Told you,” I laughed. I led him towards the kitchen while the cats ran on ahead.

 

It was not long before we went to my bedroom and fucked like rabbits.

 

 

 

 


	7. The Most Beautiful Man in the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mairon is besotted.

In the morning, I woke up next to the most beautiful man in the whole of the Earth. I still think of him that way. I now know how Beren could risk everything for Lúthien; I would have done the same for Jesse. I still think Beren was a halfwit though.

 

Jesse reached over and stroked my lips. “I am so worn out I cannot move.”

 

“Turn on your side. I will do all the work.”

 

Jesse gave a wide grin and then he laughed. “You will be the death of me.” He turned on his side and jutted his arse in the direction of my hardness. “Do your worst.”

 

“Sure you don’t want me to do my best?” I teased, kissing his shoulder blades.

 

“Do that as well.”

 

My hand burrowed under his arm, pulling him closer. More kisses to his neck and cheek. His head strained around and caught my lips in a passionate kiss. He felt so good, so warm and solid. I had one here who could meet my physical demands with a strength that matched my own.

 

“We are nearly out of lube,” I said softly, my teasing fingers working inside his arse.

 

“We used a whole bottle in one night?”

 

“Oh yes,” I breathed as my cock slid inside his warmth.

 

“Well fuck my arse!” Jesse chuckled.

 

“That is what I am doing,” I murmured, kissing the back of his neck. “Quiet now. The master deserves an attentive audience.” I tweaked his nipple to reinforce the point.

 

“I am mastering you next and I will require that you giggle all the way through,” Jesse replied, his voice becoming softer as his passion overrode him.

 

Deep breaths, bliss-filled sighs and low moans assaulted my ears and I took pleasure knowing that I was the one doing that to him. Words were not needed, so they were not said. After using the last of the lube, I took him in my hand to bring him to his completion. My other arm was under his neck and I held his hands within my grip so he could not reach for anything or even move. He was totally under my direction and would receive all the pleasure that I could give.

 I came hard; I always did with him. He never failed to drive me to the heights of extreme ecstasy.   His seed sprayed the top of his chest and I marvelled at how far it travelled. My hand reached up and I smeared it over his silken skin before putting my fingers in his mouth.

 

“Mmm...Caramel.” He always made me laugh.

 

We showered and dressed, ready for our shift that morning, barely able to leave each other alone. In the end, we had to leave, but I had the bliss of knowing that we were now lovers.

 


	8. Death in Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mairon survives a murder attempt

[](http://s176.photobucket.com/albums/w181/chaotic_binky/OEAM/?action=view&current=AfricanHornet3.jpg)

 

 

 

 

 

 

On the doorstep sat a small box. It had not been there half an hour earlier, when I let the cats back in after they went to their toilet. I must have had the only cats that refused to use a litter box. One would think I was asking them to stand in boiling water, they hated it so much.

 

“A present?” Jesse enquired.

 

“I have no idea,” I shrugged. I unloosed the finely woven silk ribbon and several golden leaves peeled away.

 

“Unusual way to wrap a present,” Jesse remarked.

 

“I have seen leaves like this before. No idea where though. Maybe in Greece.” I was truly mystified.

 

Inside the box was an angry insect. I saw it briefly as it flew towards my face. Before I could bat it away, my cheek was stung. The pain was excruciating, as if a red hot spike was driven into my cheek. I yelled and tried to pull it off and it stung my cheek again before stinging my hand.

 

Jesse grabbed me, held me still against the door and pulled my hand away from my face. He pulled the back end of the insect away with the lapel of his jacket and deposited it back in the box.

 

“Let me see.” He pulled my hand away from my face and touched my cheek. “Let’s get you to the hospital. Lucky we are going there anyway, isn’t it?”

 

I tried to answer but it was hard to breathe. I wanted to vomit and held myself. It was bad enough that I was incapacitated next to the one I desired.

 

I gave Jesse my car keys, hoping he could drive. He guided, half-carried, me across the drive to my car. We got in and he drove like the wind.

 

I have no memory of how we got to the casualty department. I remember waking up on a trolley, in a room, on my own. My face and hand still hurt but I did not feel like vomiting. The swelling seemed to have gone down somewhat on my hand.

 

A mirror hung on the wall opposite. Slowly, I got off the trolley and walked over to look at my face, taking the empty IV bag with me. My left cheek was still swollen but at least I could see through that eye. The whole area was red but that would go; hopefully, the movement would come back as well.

 

“Who have you pissed off?” Jesse said as he walked into the room. “The insect was an Asian Hornet and it could have killed you. If it had stung you one more time you would have died.”

 

“I have no idea,” I shrugged.

 

“The police are involved. They want to question you at some point today. They are treating it as attempted murder. You feeling better?”

 

“Still sore but I will live. Are you all right?”

 

“Apart from being questioned by the police and just being suspended on full pay, because I might have been the one who put the parcel on your step, I am doing just fine,” Jesse sat beside me.

 

“Why do they suspect you?” I was shocked.

 

“Because no one saw who put it on your doorstep. The logical choice is me. The police are a bit dull-witted at the best of times, even more so today.” He sighed. “Come on. I will drive you home.”

 

“But you stopped the attack, at considerable risk to yourself, and you drove me here,” I exclaimed. “It could have stung you as well.”

 

“I was also the one who rang the police, but they said that might have been part of my plan,” he gave a hollow laugh. “Can you believe it?”

 

Another person walked into the room. He introduced himself as Detective Hunter. “Hunter by name and Hunter by nature,” he said proudly. I was not impressed. For all I cared he could be called Detective Wanker and it would have been as apt in description.

 

“Now then, young lad,” he said after asking several perfunctory questions about my movements that morning. “I want you to make a list of all your enemies and anyone you think might want to kill or scare you.” He looked at Jesse. “The fingerprints on the piece of paper we found in the box are not yours. You are not under suspicion anymore and I have let your boss know that. He wants you to assist in theatre three, so run along. Don’t leave the country though. We may need to talk to you again.” He looked at me. “We do not think it was intended for you. Your name is not Sauron, is it?”

 

“No, of course not.” I replied. “What piece of paper?”

 

He continued looking at me, aware that Jesse had not left the room and was not about to.

 

“No. My name is not Sauron. What is that? A first or a last name? And what piece of paper?”

 

He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. It was a photocopy of a note, which he said was inside the box with the Asian Hornet. It read: Just a small taste of what you inflicted upon others. We are coming for you. Tenna' san'. It was signed, ‘The Ones who stayed’.

 

“I have no idea about any of this. What does Tenna' san' mean?”

 

“No idea. We will find out though.”

 

“Could this be some sort of sick prank?” Jesse asked.

 

“Who leaves fingerprints on threatening notes?” I asked, feeling bewildered.

 

“Someone very stupid, or someone who thinks he will not be caught.” Detective Hunter told me that they had already checked my garden and the front step, finding nothing, but they would make a further search the next day.

 

“Come on, let’s go,” Jesse said. “I can come back later.”

 

“You are supposed to go to theatre three,” Hunter said. “Your boss said...”

 

“Well he can bugger off. He suspended me without any evidence whatsoever, so he can go stick his head up his arse. I am taking Mairon home and that is that. He still looks unwell and I do not think he should drive. Do you?”

 

“Has he been discharged yet?”

 

“Yes. That is why I came to collect him.” Jesse sighed impatiently. He took some cotton wool and a reel of tape from the stainless steel trolley in the corner. I pulled the dressing off my arm and the needle came out with it. Jesse taped the cotton wool over the tiny red hole in my skin.

 

“Well okay. I did not tell your boss you were a suspect and I did not ask for you to be suspended; he decided that himself. I am no one’s messenger boy.” He smiled and we thanked him.

 

“Will you be all right?” I asked as we walked out of the hospital. “I have been told that the new department manager is a bit of a bastard.”

 

“The chairman of the hospital is an even bigger bastard,” Jesse grinned. “She is also my mother.”

 

“You don’t have the same last name.”

 

“She never changed her name when she married.”

 

“Oh.”

 

We arrived back at my house. Shortly after, I received a telephone call. On the end was a musical, almost lilting voice. “We are watching you.” The line went dead.

 

“What was that?” Jesse asked.

 

I told him and he rang Detective Hunter who said I should find somewhere else to live until the investigation was over. No one was going to terrorise me, so I stayed right where I was.

 

 

 

 


	9. Inseparable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After moving to Greece, Mairon and Jesse visit the UK to get a civil contract. Uncle John goes with them.

 

 

 

The police investigation did not result in anything concrete and they discontinued it because no more threats were forthcoming. Jesse and I continued seeing one another, falling deeper in love and enjoying each other’s bodies every chance we got.

 

Several months later, I took Jesse to meet my father, who was more than pleased to see him. Our holiday in Greece was wonderful; one of the most special times in my life. Jesse told me that he loved me and I told him the same.

 

We were inseparable; no one existed outside our cocoon and that was how it stayed for nineteen years. There were no more overt threats to my life; although there were several unsettling coincidences.

 

“Let’s get married,” Jesse said, as he sat beside me. We were watching the news on the television and the newsreader said that civil contracts were now law in the United Kingdom. “We both have UK passports, so we could do it next time we go on holiday.”

 

We lived in Greece, in the same house as my father. Neither of us wanted to work until we were old and so we retired from our consultancies at the age of forty-five. My barely touched trust fund was bursting at the seams and Jesse had inherited a significant amount from his parents after their lives were cut short in a rail crash in 1999. We rented out the properties we owned in England and enjoyed a very comfortable life indeed.

 

“Would it be legal here?”

 

“Don’t know. Let’s go and get a civil contract anyway, before someone decides to ban them.”

 

“You are still as romantic as ever,” I teased.

 

“I would get down on one knee but you might nick my crisps.” He had a big bowl of them on his lap.

 

“I will nick them anyway,” I chuckled and dived for the bowl.

 

My father accompanied us to England for the wedding. He was our only living relative that we knew about, not counting my aunt and her husband, who were persona non grata, and my brother and cousin, whose whereabouts were lost to us. We had the ceremony and went back to our hotel, a rather sumptuous five star place that my father always stayed at when doing book signing tours. The staff presented us with a wedding cake topped with two small figures of men in suits and the words ‘Happy ever after’ iced around them. Our suite was decorated with balloons, bouquets of roses and banners. A complimentary bottle of champagne stood in an ice-bucket by our bed. A scattering of rose petals lay over the red silk coverlet and a big, heart shaped box of chocolates lay on the table.

 

“This is wonderful,” my father exclaimed. “According to the desk clerk you are the first civil union couple to stay at this hotel.” He looked around again. “Marvellous. Who would have thought we would have come so far? Well, I am going now. Have fun and I will see you both tomorrow at lunch.” He hugged us both and left the room.

 

“Where are you off to?” I asked.

 

“I am meeting up with an old friend.” My father gave us an enigmatic smile. He opened the door and left, calling that we should not even think about getting any sleep during the night.

 

“I cannot believe he still has sex,” Jesse said. “He is so old.”

 

“He is seventy now. We will probably find him dead in bed after a post coital heart attack.” I laughed, but it was something I had wondered about recently. My father seemed as strong as an ox, even at his age; those types nearly always die suddenly.

 

We went to bed and loved each other into satiation. In the early hours, worn out, breathing heavily and covered in sweat, among other things, we decided to go to sleep. While in the state between sleep and wakefulness I felt a tapping on my shoulder.

 

 

 


	10. Sauron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mairon finds out that he used to be Sauron in his former life.

 

 

 

“Sauron, wake up,” a voice demanded.

 

My eyes snapped open. Sitting on the bed was a being so beautiful that my eyes could not stop staring at him. His long black hair moved as if made from watery waves, and yet it was completely dry. Like me, he had pointed ears. His irises were black and surrounded by the whitest sclera I had ever seen; they seemed to almost glow. Apart from his impossibly red lips, he looked as if he was a black and white photograph that had come to life.

 

“Are you an alien?” I asked, wondering if I should be terrified and my hand unconsciously reaching to cover my arse, just in case the being before me wanted to do an anal probe.

 

“To him, I am,” he pointed to Jesse. “To you, I am not.”

 

“Who are you?” I had no idea what he could mean. “Oh, and my name is not Sauron. It is Mairon.”

 

“No, it is Sauron. That is who you were in a former life.” He tried to touch my forehead and I reared back.

 

“What do you know of the note that was sent to me twenty years ago? That was addressed to Sauron. Did you send it?” I asked, near to panic; the memory flooding back into my mind. I tried to wake Jesse.

 

“He is sleeping like an innocent, because he is,” the strange being told me. “Now, I have foiled thirty-seven attempts on your life. A couple of them nearly succeeded. Lord Námo had to forcibly remove ‘The Ones who Stayed’ to the Halls because they were so hell bent on killing you. You can’t blame them though. If I was one of them I would have tried to kill you. You were a complete and utterly evil bastard who still deserves every unhappiness heaped upon you.”

 

“WHO ARE YOU?” I demanded.

 

“I am Lord Manwë and I was the one who allowed your rebirth.” He lunged forward and grabbed my hand with a vice hard grip. His other hand caught hold of my forehead.

 

I could not move, even though I put all my effort into trying. Images flashed through my mind, accompanied by old thoughts and emotions. When he let go, I knew all my past.

 

“I am not that person anymore,” I said, my voice choking. “I have lived a good life.”

 

“Yes, you have,” Manwë agreed. “You did so well that I stopped the elves who remained in Middle-earth from killing you. They were, ‘The Ones who Stayed’, which I consider a totally pretentious title, even though I can sympathise fully with their aims.” He sighed. “Haven’t you ever read Lord of the Rings or the Silmarillion?”

 

“Fantasy doesn’t interest me,” I replied.

 

“You must be the only person on this planet who has not read the books,” Manwë scowled. “We even put it into Peter Jackson’s head that he should make those Lord of the Rings movies. You might have had the decency to watch them, even though they were crap.”

 

“Why should I have done?”

 

“You were supposed to realise who you were and make an active choice to live differently. Not live in innocence. Lord Eru is not terribly pleased with your lack of interest in contemporary fantasy fiction. Poor Tolkien spent his life obsessed with a concept that he thought he had invented and you did not even have the decency to read the book he wrote. We even put it into his son’s head that he should carry on with it, hoping that, at one point, you would decide to expand your literary reading material. We even put it into the heads of thousands of women that they should write slash fanfiction. You haven’t read any of that either; have you?”

 

“Well how would I know? Anyway, the book came out before I was born, didn’t it?”

 

“Well of course it did. You would be born after and there would be no reason for you to not know of its existence.” Manwë sighed. “You never used to be this stupid.”

 

“Lord Manwë, this is the most wonderful night of my life. My husband lies sleeping there and I love him very much. I turn my back on my old life. I cannot imagine ever having lived like that, even though I accept that I did. All I want is the simple life with him. I want nothing else.” I looked fondly at my sleeping husband; it felt odd calling him that, beings as it was all so new.

 

“Lord Eru wants to formally offer you the position of Ruler of the Whole of the Earth. He is of the opinion that you are the only one who has the abilities to carry it off. I do not know why he desires this, but he does.” He shook his head, as if mystified. “Do you have any idea, now you have your memory back?”

 

“No. Tell Lord Eru that I refuse. All I want to do is live out the rest of my life with Jesse and die along with him. I do not seek any position of power.” Privately, I thought Manwë must think I was the most stupid person on the planet. It was obviously a test. No deity in his right mind is going to offer one such as me a position like that.

 

“You will indeed live out the rest of Jesse’s life with him and you have many more years yet; however, you are immortal. You can only die if you are killed or if you commit suicide. By the way, if you do manage to die, I will send you straight back here again. You are not getting out of life that easily.”

 

“I was born as a human,” I said irritably.

 

“You were born appearing to be a human,” Manwë told me. “I have watched over you all your life and I will continue to keep you safe for as long as Lord Eru permits. The ‘Ones who Stayed’ will not be able to harm you, now that they are all dead, so it gladdens my heart that you have eschewed your past. Indeed, I have high hopes for you. I will tell Lord Eru of your decision.”

 

“Thank you,” I said and lay back down.

 

Manwë smiled. “Congratulations. You will have many happy years together.”

 

I lay back down while the memories played in my head. How could I have been engaged in such evil? The memory of the orcs made me shudder, just as they had when Melkor first showed them to me. I saw families destroyed, children being killed by my own hand, innocents being tortured, while I enjoyed every moment of it; now it filled me with horror. Sitting on an iron throne, with my legs over the side, I would laugh loudly as orcs and uruk-hai recounted their actions to me. I spent much time thinking up new tortures and betrayals, considering myself ingenious for having the imagination to do so. I remembered the vile Thuringwethil; she had once been my lover and I had shed a tear when she was killed because my partner in evil was no more. I also remember the brave elves who did try to defeat me. In the end, I was conquered, irrevocably, and with a crushing finality, and I deserved it. That Manwë had given me a second chance still surprises me. I was not worthy of it. I did not warrant any consideration whatsoever.

 

“You are still awake,” Jesse mumbled. He turned on his side and put his arm around me. “I love you.”

 

“I love you too,” I said softly and kissed his mouth.

 

“Did you have a nightmare?” he asked as I leaned into his embrace.

 

“Yes.” I put my arm around him, needing to feel his closeness.

 

“Go back to sleep. I will keep your nightmares away.” As if he could, but his intention was pure and I loved him even more for it. His hand stroked my head as I kissed his neck. I was so lucky to have him, when, in view of my past life, I deserved nothing at all. I settled into a dreamless sleep, secure in my lover’s arms and did not wake until the morning.

 

 

 


	11. The Long Lost Twin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mairon's brother finds him after many years of them being apart.

 

 

My father lived for another ten years. Just as I thought it would, his heart gave out while having sex. His lover, a much younger man of thirty-five years old, said that my father had his orgasm and then slumped down on top of him. When he tried to tell my father that he had not come yet there was no response and he panicked. He yelled for help. We had arrived home from a local family-run taverna about half an hour before.

 

There was nothing we could do. His heart was dead and all the chest compressions in the world could not bring him back. The ambulance arrived and tried defibrillating him, but he was gone. They took my father to the hospital and we were alone.

 

“I am sorry,” Jesse said, biting his lip.

 

“He died the way he wanted to go,” I replied.

 

“I hope I am still as virile when I am his age.”

 

“I hope you live longer.”

 

“Eighty is a good age.”

 

“I want you for longer than that.”

 

Jesse put his arm around me. “Come on. Let’s go and see if Ioannis is all right.”

 

Ioannis sat on my father’s bed, looking shell shocked. He had dressed, but sat still, the tears running down his face. He had been with my father for the past five years, probably the longest amount of time my father had been with anyone.

 

“He died happy,” I said softly.

 

“I loved him,” Ioannis said and shook with grief. “I knew it would happen one day, but he was so healthy. He had such energy.”

 

My heart bled for him, something it would not have done in my former life. I had come so far.

 

Ioannis was left a sizeable inheritance and a year later he left for America. We never saw him again and save for one postcard announcing his safe arrival and his intention to open a donut shop, we never heard from him either.

 

It was about a month later that I saw my brother again for the first time since I was a five year old child. The island of Kos had been a holiday resort for at least thirty-five years. There were parts of the island that we would not visit because they were so commercialised. Even in Kos town, a relatively untouched part of the island, and where we lived, the tourists would visit to see the sights during the day. Near to where we lived was the taverna we frequented several times a week. It was crowded, as always. Spiro, the owner, always kept a table for us. Often it was a collapsible one that he kept in the kitchen with a couple of fold-up chairs. He would urge the diners to move their tables and chairs slightly, to make space for us, and then he would drape a tablecloth over the top and put a small vase of plastic flowers in the middle.

 

It was one such afternoon when we sat down to eat our lunch. We ordered mezes, moussaka, salad and two beers.

 

"There is a man behind you who looks a bit like your father when he was younger," Jesse said.

 

"Where?" I dipped a chunk of sesame bread into the taramasalata bowl. I looked around.

 

"Look forward and slightly to the left," Jesse directed. "He doesn't look much like you, but there is a resemblance. He looks like the photo you have of him as a seven year old child. That man over there is what your brother would look like now, judging from his photograph."

 

I stared at the man, which was rude of me, but Jesse was absolutely right. "I wonder who he is."

 

"Spiro will find out for us." Jesse caught the taverna owner’s eye.

 

Shortly after, Spiro informed us that the man was German and was holidaying with his wife, who was shopping in the main town while he enjoyed a drink. "His name is John, after his uncle who died a month ago. He looked up his death certificate at the Town Hall. He would like to see his uncle's house, to say goodbye I expect. However, he does not know how to read the address and when he asked a couple of the local people they would not tell him because the occupants had just had a death in the family and it would be disrespectful to visit at such a time."

 

"Spiro, we are going to need two bottles of your best wine and two more chairs. Ask him to come and drink with us. We would like to share a bottle with you as well, like we normally do." Jesse looked at me. "We may need a witness, especially if he intends contesting the will."

 

Spiro did as he was bid. Two chairs and two bottles of wine were collected and he asked the man to join us.

 

"I am told that you may have information that can help me," the man said, in accented English, indicating Spiro. He spread a genealogy chart out in front of us and indicated my uncle, his name listed in a box on its own. My name was on there, but I was listed as deceased, date unknown.

 

"I believe so," I replied. I told him my name and he looked at me in shock.

 

"But that is impossible. You have my brother's name, but he is dead. Look." He pointed to my name on the chart.

 

"I can assure you that I am not dead. I can prove it as well." I took a sip of my wine, enjoying his look of bewilderment. I was not about to explain, not just yet anyway. "Do you remember the house we lived in?"

 

"I do not remember much of it, except that it was white and overlooked a park. I shared a bedroom with my younger brother; he was two years younger than me. Our mother was pregnant and neither of us wanted a sister. Our father took us into the garden and we kicked leaves."

 

"What happened then?" I asked.

 

"Then came the car crash. I was taken by my aunt to live in Germany and I was told, when we got there, that my brother had died. My stepmother constantly reminded me that I had no other relatives in the world. I believed her, why wouldn't I?"

 

"That was a wicked thing to do," I said to him.

 

"She was not a good person. My cousin and I left home as soon as we could. We both moved faraway and broke off all contact with her and her conniving husband."

 

"I am absolutely mortified that someone could tell such a lie to a small child who has just lost his family." As Sauron, I told lies like that all the time and enjoyed doing so. Now the thought of having done so filled me with revulsion.

 

"They are dead now. The solicitor managing their estate told me about a trust fund I did not even know I had. My parents used the allowance apportioned to them for my upkeep and wanted more. The trustees of the fund refused to allow her any more money, and thank goodness they did; she would have bled me dry. Because it hadn't been touched in all those years, it was worth a tidy sum. I used to own a butcher’s shop, but last year I was able to retire. If we are moderately careful, my wife and I should live in comfort for the rest of our lives."

 

"Would you like to see where your uncle lived?" I asked.

 

"I would like that very much, thank you." He pulled out his passport and his ID card. "Here is proof of who I am."

 

I looked and so did Jesse. I felt in my bones that the man talking to us was my brother. Jesse told me later that he was only convinced when he saw the documents. He said anyone could learn a story. I retorted that anyone could buy forged documents.

 

I took my brother all around the house, showing him where my father wrote his books, and his bedroom.

 

"I missed so much," my brother said sadly.

 

"Dad tried to adopt you but our aunt refused. She tried to adopt me and he fought it in the Greek courts. Even if she had won the right to adopt me, she would never have been allowed to remove me from Greece. Dad said she had probably exhausted your trust fund and wanted mine."

 

"I would say that was a true assessment of her. My aunt yelled at my uncle once because he laughed when your uncle called her a Bavarian bitch. He said it was true, even though he came from there himself."

 

I remembered my dad losing control and yelling the same words down the phone at her. For me, that proved beyond doubt who the man was. It stuck in my mind because it was the only time I ever heard my uncle say something like that.

 

We sat in the living room and I showed my brother the photos of our parents and of us as children. His aunt had not allowed him to take any photos when he went to live in Germany. He was to forget his past life.

 

While we talked, Jesse went to my father's bedroom and took the box of toys from the safe, the ones that my dad had insisted I give my brother when I saw him next. He put the box on the table.

 

"Do you remember our toy trains? You had a yellow one and mine was blue?" He dived into the box of toys and pulled it out. "Look, it is just as I remembered it." At that point, his mobile phone rang. "Elise, I have wonderful news. My brother is alive. You know, the one that your mother said was dead? He kept my toys and I'm in his house now... Go to the taverna. Ask for Spiro. He will give you directions. The house is not far from there."

 

Fifteen minutes later there was a knock on the door. My brother opened it and joyfully told his wife to come in. She stepped inside, looking slightly nervous. He took her hand and introduced her to us.

 

“May I present my wife, Elise. My aunt was her mother, so she is my cousin as well. She is your cousin too.” He turned to his wife. “This is my long lost brother; the one your mother said was dead.”

 

I took the back of her hand and kissed it. “I am pleased to meet you,” I told her.

 

Elise blushed and replied that she was pleased to meet me too.

 

I introduced her to my husband and her eyes widened. “So you have no children?”

 

I nodded, sensing Jesse’s amusement. No doubt he would be cracking all sorts of ‘first cousins marrying’ jokes when they had gone.

 

“Do you have any children?” I asked politely, while gesturing that she should sit down on the sofa facing the sea view.

 

“Ja, we have two, a boy and a girl. They are off living their own lives and having children.” She smiled and rooted around in her handbag. “Here, look at their photos. The boy is called Mairon, after my husband’s dead brother, who we now know is not dead after all. The girl is called Anna.” Elise smiled widely and said how wonderful it was that I was alive.

 

We spent the afternoon drinking the local lemonade and eating small almond and honey pastries, while exchanging life experiences. Later, during the evening, we said goodbye to them, promising to one day visit Germany. Their flight was the next day and we would not see them for a few years; however, we did agree to send letters and emails, so that is what we did.

 

When they left, Jesse took me in his arms and kissed my lips. “I thought they would never go. They were very intense.”

 

“They were, but wouldn’t you be in their position?”

 

“Maybe. Would you be offended if I made a load of first cousin jokes?”

 

I stroked his face and kissed his lips. I gave him a small smile. “If you have to...”

 

“It occurs to me that they suffered a lot of abuse when they were kids; reading between the lines of what they said. Happily, they had each other and that is how it stayed.”

 

“I had it so much better.”

 

“Still, if you were my cousin I could never have married you.” Jesse kissed me and chuckled. “It would be the kids I would feel sorry for.”

 

“Bed time,” I said and kissed his lips.

 

Jesse put his hand down the front of my trousers. “Will you last until then?” He raised his eyebrows and smiled before squatting down, unzipping my fly, and taking me in his mouth. He held onto my ass to steady himself and took me to the land of bliss.

 

 

 

 


	12. Last Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse wants to drive up into the mountains with a picnic after an afternoon siesta.

 

 

I was married to Jesse for nearly thirty years. We adored one another and he was my anchor. I never loved anyone but him. I thought I loved Melkor and Thuringwethil, but they were pale, washed out imitations of love when compared to what I had with him.

 

It was three days before Jesse’s seventy-fifth birthday party. The party would be held in the town square and was being catered with food and drink. The locals were arranging everything, leaving me to relax and do nothing.

 

“Come on, it’s two o’clock. Let’s go upstairs. Siesta time,” Jesse said, looking at his watch. We sat on the patio, overlooking the beach, watching the windsurfers; some of them were quite proficient, others less so. They were tourists; the locals were probably already fast asleep.

 

Jesse took my hand and we walked back into the house. “We can sleep a bit longer and then drive up into the mountains, if you like.”

 

“What do you have planned?” I asked him.

 

“I thought we could ask Spiro to put a picnic together, something to barbecue, and we could sit on a mountain track and watch the dawn.”

 

“We could buy some lemon potatoes in foil and souvlaki.”

 

“Maybe some salad?”

 

“Feta salad,” I said and kissed his lips. “I am looking forward to it already.”

 

“Well, that is what we will do.” Jesse kissed my lips and told me that he loved me and I did the same.

 

Fully clothed, we fell asleep on our bed. The local shops closed directly after lunch and the whole area was quiet for a couple of hours as everyone took their siesta. We were no different. Normally, we woke around five o’clock.

 

I woke up, but Jesse would never do so again. He looked peaceful and still. There were no signs of distress and a slight smile played on his lips. His pupils were dilated, the carotid pulse was absent and his fingers felt cold. He looked as though he was sleeping, but he was not. I stroked his blond, silver streaked hair while the tears fell down my cheeks. The panic rose within me and I wanted to vomit, but, most prominent of all, was the replaying in my mind of our last conversation. His last words were that he loved me; it was all so unutterably sad. There was no point in trying to bring him back, his lips were mauve and the tips of his fingers felt cold. Death had probably occurred shortly after he had fallen asleep.

 

“I love you,” I told him, my voice breaking along with my heart. “I know you are gone, but I love you so much. We did not get the chance to say goodbye.” I kissed his cool lips and pulled him close for one last embrace. He still smelt of the mandarin and grapefruit soap he had used in the shower that morning. “You will always be in my heart,” I whispered in his ear. “I do not know where men go to, but a part of you will stay here with me; no one can take my memories and you will live on in them. I will never forget you. No one has ever held my heart the way you have. I love you; and now you are gone that will not stop. It will be forever. I hope that wherever you are you can hear me.” I held him even closer and sobbed like a child. I never knew that a body could hold so many tears.

 

I knew the day would come, but when it did it was like being hit by a crashing train, especially as I had never known Jesse to have a day’s illness, or even visit a doctor, since first meeting him. Jesse’s birthday party became his funeral instead.

 

The church of St John the Baptist was packed with mourners. My brother and his wife had flown in from Germany and stood next to me as the mourners paid their respects. Jesse lay in an open casket, an icon of our Holy Mother on his chest. He looked as handsome as the day I met him, all those years ago.

 

The mourners filed past and kissed the icon on Jesse’s chest before moving on. My heart was broken, torn to shreds. It would be the last time I saw him and my eyes could look nowhere else. I held a lock of his hair in my hand, seeking comfort from the fact that I had kept a little piece of who he was. After an hour long service, my only one was interred in the churchyard alongside my father. Spiro and his wife held the mercy meal and then we went home.

 

 


	13. The Proposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Manwe has a proposition for Mairon.

 

 

My brother and his wife flew home two days later, after assurances from me that I would be all right. I got back from the airport to find Manwë waiting for me.

 

“What do you want?” I said wearily.

 

“I want to tell you how sorry I am for your loss.” Manwë did indeed look sorry, but I found it hard to trust him. He was as effective at cunning manipulation as his brother.

 

“Seventy-five is no age,” I accused. “Jesse did not need to die so young.”

 

“There is nothing any of us can do when the human heart stops working. It was time for Jesse’s soul to leave and so it did; we have no power over these things.”

 

“I do not want to live without him,” I said, trying to hold back the tears, they came easily since Jesse left his life.

 

“You do not have the choice,” Manwë said. “If you kill yourself you will be re-embodied immediately.”

 

“That is so unfair!”

 

“It is how things are,” Manwë replied. “Have you thought about your future?”

 

“I am still trying to deal with my present.”

 

“You will carry on. Come, look in the mirror.”

 

“I am going to bed.” I walked away and Manwë appeared before me.

 

“It was not an invitation.” He took my arm and led me to the mirror above the bookshelf.

 

My face appeared young again. The lines and stubble were gone. Feeling my chin, I asked how this was possible.

 

“This is how you appear to me. Your human face is the one the villagers and your relatives see; however, that will change. In years to come, more and more will see your real face. As everyone dies off, fewer people will need to see you in your human guise.”

 

“I intend staying here. This house holds many happy memories and it is one of my few remaining links with Jesse.”

 

“Does it ever occur to you that those whom you killed, tortured and displaced when Sauron had these feelings too?”

 

“All the time,” I shot back. “Every single time I close my eyes, since the day you showed me who I really am.”

 

“Good,” Manwë replied, not perturbed at all that I had just shouted at him. “Then seek redemption for the one you used to be. Go out into the world and defeat evil wherever you find it.”

 

“Why can’t you?”

 

“You have learnt compassion and how to love unconditionally, but that is not enough. To fully redeem your soul, you need to learn how to be selfless for others.”

 

“What should I do? Give my money to an orphanage, perhaps? Become a missionary?”

 

“Do you remember when you were a young doctor and you suspected a child was being abused?”

 

“There were children like that all the time. I always informed the police and social services if I suspected abuse,” I told him. Surely he was not going to accuse me of failing the lives of those whom I had no control over.

 

“Would it surprise you to know that hardly any of those children got the justice they deserved?”

 

“Not really. I did my bit by reporting it, but I knew nothing would be done. No one cared what happened to children then. Not in London, anyway.” It was true. There was much talk about child protection all those years ago, but hardly anything was enforced. It would have taken a child to have been life threateningly sexually injured or killed, before anything concrete happened.

 

“Even today, for every child that gets justice there are ten who never do. Expand that further and consider that many people deserve justice and they never get it, throughout the whole of their lives. Consider as well that the people who carry out these secret crimes deserve retribution.”

 

“Are you suggesting that I should become a lawyer?”

 

“Most people cannot afford lawyers. I have something simpler in mind.”

 

I sat down on the sofa. The insensitive bastard was not going to go away unless I listened to him. All I wanted to do was sleep; I had done a lot of that since Jesse’s death.

 

“You are a Maia. Your powers should enable you to see who deserves justice and who does not. I doubt if you can help these people directly though. What you can do is mete out retribution to those who hurt others, to those whom have never been subjected to justice for their crimes or have not paid nearly enough.”

 

“And who decides whether they have had enough justice or not? It seems to me that your proposal treads on some very dangerous ground.”

 

“It does, but after the exemplary life you have led, Lord Eru trusts that you will use good judgement. Not all the Valar are convinced you will keep to the proper path. Námo especially, he is of the opinion that you are base and corrupt at heart, regardless of how you comported yourself in this life.”

 

“I really could not care less how he perceives me. Furthermore, if you mean that by meting out justice I will be killing people then I am not interested. That would make me as bad as them.”

 

“You would be taking part of their soul away. They would have enough to live a peaceful life but not enough to carry out their evil deeds. That is not killing them; that is removing them as a source of harm to others.”

 

“How would they function without a complete soul?” To say I was disbelieving would be an understatement. I had never heard the like before. If I had, I would have used the capacity to do so when I was Sauron. World domination would have been a breeze.

 

“Lord Eru has decided that you should be the one to carry out his command.”

 

“So he sent **you**? The Vala I trust the least?”

 

Manwë sighed. “I am not against you. I want you to succeed, if only to torture my brother with the fact that you will once again be beloved of the Valar. However, Lord Eru has greater things in mind for you. The Dagor Dagorath is approaching and we need to make sure that good wins. Your role will be as equally important in the approach as anyone else’s.”

 

“I want to be the beloved of only one, and he is dead. I also do not see how anything I do can affect the outcome of the Dagor Dagorath. Doesn’t the prophecy say that good will win and Melkor be overthrown for the final time, regardless of his actions?”

 

“It is only a prophecy; incidentally, one that includes you being thrown into the Void. The song is not sung yet and so the prophecy can be overturned, but, you are right, good will always win. You will be important for one reason only...”

 

“And what is that?” I asked, hoping the scorn was evident in my voice.

 

“The humans that are left on Earth will also fight. Their souls will be drawn up into the skies. Many will think it is the Rapture, while others will think it is the Day of Judgement. Very few will know it for what it really is. They will fight on the sides of good and bad, whether they want to or not. Your role is to reduce the numbers that will fight for the evil one.”

 

“How?”

 

“If you remove the evil part of the soul then only the good will remain. Human souls travel beyond the confines of this existence and so the evil parts will not be able to fight, because they will already be gone. The good that is left will fight against Melkor, as will you, if you succeed.”

 

The carrot dangled in front of the donkey. If I asked how fighting for good would be of an advantage to me, then I would be perceived as only willing to help if it benefitted myself. I could hardly be seen as selfless. On the other hand, if I did not ask then I might be walking into a situation half blind. I had no choice but to accept. I did not care about the events of the future as I was finding the present hard enough to deal with.

 

“How long do we have? I would like my grief to lessen before I embark on any sort of action.”

 

“Let us decide upon five years. A human would embrace life well before that, but the love of an immortal is endless and they mourn forever. After five years you might have come to terms with your loss, even though your heart will still be in pain.” The bastard sounded almost sympathetic.

 

“Agreed,” I said heavily. “Is this it? I would like to go to bed now.”

 

“Sleep well,” Manwë said and disappeared.

 

 


	14. Farewell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse says goodbye to Jesse at his grave.

 

 

The next day I went to Jesse’s grave and spoke about Manwë’s visit. I knew he could not answer me, but I could imagine what his responses would have been; they helped me to divine the wood from the trees.

 

I visited his grave every day for the next five years and slowly I came to terms with my new life. Jesse would have leapt at the chance to remove the evil from human souls. Both of us had seen enough cruelty and abuse while in our former jobs to last us a life time. Jesse was especially vociferous about how abusers of children should be treated; there was a whole range of Old Testament punishments he thought they should endure. I agreed with him; I believed he was right to think so and I still do.

 

“Jesse, I am going to live in London for a while. The Valar have opened a Silmarillion theme park and want me to run it.  Manwë had trouble deciding how I would be in a position to take the evil from large amounts of peoples’ souls, but happily he saw the Silmarillion movie and the park idea just came to him. It is hard to think of a seven foot tall Vala sitting in one of those tiny cinema seats, but he did... I have not seen the film. I am told that Peter Jackson Jr has taken such liberties with the story that I find I do not want to; anyway, you know I have never been interested in that sort of thing. Apparently, Legolas is in it! I wonder how he thinks he will not be criticised for that. That is not to mention the sons of Fëanor raping Melian, as if that could ever happen. He has also done away with the part of Fingon and introduced a female lead in place of him. She is the one who frees Maedhros from Thangorodhrim and they fall in love. I can see every fanfic writer being happy about that.” Jesse always loved my sarcasm; he said it nearly matched his.

 

I paused and placed a red rose on his grave and another on my father’s alongside his. “I will be back as soon as the job is done. I don’t know when that will be, but Spiro’s son and his wife will tend your graves. I will miss you, Jesse, but I promise, every night I will talk to you before I go to sleep. I know you will listen; you always do. I love you forever.” I walked away, leaving the graves alone, after saying goodbye to Dad as well. Looking back, their resting places were basking in hot sunshine with fresh flowers covering them. I knew they would be all right.

 

I went back to the house to collect my luggage and passport. The metal shutters were securely fixed and the new ventilation system hummed in the background. I did not want to come back to a house that was filled with mould spores and dead air.

 

Manwë appeared before me. “When you touch down in London, the customs staff will see you as a thirty year old man.” He took my passport and held it in his hand so that the glow from his skin encompassed the small booklet. “Here, you will be seen as you are now by some people and as a young man by others. When you touch down in London you will be young again, but when you arrive back here you will be as you are now.”

 

“How handy,” I said, not thanking him because he was disrupting my life.

 

“After you arrive in Gatwick there will be a driver waiting to take you to your new home. The theme park is in-between Clacton on Sea and Frinton on the Essex coast. The tiny village of Holland on Sea has been obliterated and the residents repatriated elsewhere so that the theme park could go ahead. Don’t worry, humans who are suddenly millionaires, several times over, are always happy to fall in with the nefarious plans of those who wish to wipe out their community. Millions of Londoners will flock there, as will tourists. Your job is to remove the evil parts from their souls so that they pass beyond the bounds of this existence and become irretrievable. The Dagor Dagorath is approaching and will come sooner than most think.”

 

“Because evil only happens in London, doesn’t it?”

 

“It is a testing ground only. I have a far bigger arena decided for you if it all goes well. It is in the planning stages and this is a dry run to see whether taking parts of the soul is possible.” Manwë tried to give me an enigmatic smile, his favourite expression. “Lord Eru assures me that anything he sets his mind to is perfectly possible. Privately, I wonder if they might turn into deranged zombies. Better to do it in a place like London where they are already killing each other. Any scheme on our part should go unnoticed.”

 

“You are making a lot of generalisations,” I told him. “You know nothing about people in London. I am sure they care about life as much as anyone else.”

 

“I watch the television and read the English papers, like everyone else,” Manwë retorted. “In any case, you speak English. If I sent you anywhere else you might not be fluent in their language.” That was a stupid excuse if ever I heard one. He was well able to make me a master of all languages. Manwë was not being open with me; he demands honesty from others but is loathe to give it himself.

 

“You cannot believe everything you read in the papers. Television is highly selective as well. You are a Vala and you should know this.”

 

“Why would I know anything about how humans live? Did I bother to enquire about elves’ living conditions when you were causing devastation? No, I was not interested. I am only here because Lord Eru has ordered it and the Dagor Dagorath is approaching.” I knew it; he was bored already and absolutely hiding his real reasons. Also, I could take an extremely informed guess as to why he chose London because, even though I lived in Greece, I still had access to English papers and read them daily.

 

“You opened up in the country that would give the quickest go ahead on your theme park, didn’t you?” The United Kingdom was suffering yet another recession and at such times standards crumble at the altar of Mammon. The newspapers, especially the more scurrilous ones, had been scandalised at how the new theme park had been given planning permission and other permits, without a protracted amount of time spent on useless detail. There were others who thought that changing the shape of the sea front by destroying an old village and obliterating a massive golf course, while disregarding the environmental concerns of the local people, pointed to massive corruption in local and central government. Actually, they were probably not too far from the truth at all. There is no British Government in history that has actually considered the views of the population and they were not about to start doing so now.

 

Manwë shrugged. “Money talks and no human mind can resist that of a Valar.”

 

“How is it different for you than it is for me? You would certainly have something to say about me if I carried on like that.”

 

“So?” Manwë replied.

 

The taxi pulled up outside the house. “You first,” I said, indicating he should go out the door. I did not want him lounging around my house without me being there.

 

 

 


	15. Grey light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sauron arrives at Gatwick Airport.

 

[ ](http://s176.photobucket.com/albums/w181/chaotic_binky/OEAM/?action=view&current=GatwickAirport.jpg)

 

 

In a fit of contrariness, Manwë disappeared into thin air, so I loaded my luggage into the taxi and forgot about him. On the way to the airport I looked at the heat shimmer rising from the roads, the fields of twisted olive trees bordered by soil ridges upon which grew flat prickly cactuses, blue painted roadside shrines and an old woman stepping off an old bus with a goat on a lead. The old man with her held a cage containing two chickens. I would miss these sights. My UK passport belied the fact that I had lived for most of my life in Kos; I felt at one with the people and the land itself at a deep and basic level within my psyche. It would be hard living anywhere else.  

 

Most of all, I would miss the particular quality of the Aegean light. The joyous brightness contrasted with the dull grey air at Gatwick Airport and made my heart weep and long for home. How I hate that airport; it is a soulless place.

 

Most of the people on my flight were returning from holidaying in Kos or one of the much smaller islands. As a last, desperate clinging to the spirit of enjoying one’s self, they drank as much as they could on the plane and acted accordingly. Their tans looked as tired as their lined, sun damaged faces. Tempers frayed when they had to wait for their suitcases to be unloaded. Young families looked exhausted and their children behaved badly due to lack of sleep. Even so they would remember only the good parts of the holiday and would do it all again next year.

 

Happily, my luggage was one of the first to be unloaded. I grabbed it and walked away, leaving the smell of tanning oil, pungent antiperspirant and cheap eau de toilette behind me.

 

I saw him before he saw me. The driver of the car that would take me to the theme park was dressed in the clothing of a first age warrior; he looked decidedly uncomfortable As well he should; why should he feel any better than those who actually lived at the time?

 

Jesse would have looked divine as a First Age warrior. I imagine him as a Vanya, the fairest of all the elves. It is amazing how tastes change; when I was near ruler of Middle-earth I could not abide them. Since leaving our home I had thought about Jesse constantly.  I would have to get over the guilt of leaving him alone. At least his grave was in a sunny location; I would have felt worse if it had been in a cold country. Jesse loved the sunshine.

 

We were together for forty nine years, the majority of our lives, and my heart still ached just as hard five years after his death. Visiting his grave was a comfort. I could imagine that he was still near, although in reality he was a shell for an existence long gone. I have no illusions. He is dead, but that still does not stop my heart from hurting, and for me to wish for everything to stay the same without moving on. Leaving for a new life was cutting the last remaining tie I had with the only one I would ever love and it ripped and gnawed at my heart to the point of agony.

 

“Nice outfit,” I said dryly as the driver loaded my luggage into the back of the car.

 

“I am supposed to look like an elf called Maedhros,” he replied, unhappily.

 

“Really?”

 

He nodded but said nothing.

 

On the journey he said hardly anything. He was especially good at grunting replies, just like the real Maedhros all those years ago. I was about to give up when a naughty thought entered my head.

 

“Are you Maedhros before he has his sword hand chopped off or after?”

 

“Before I expect,” he replied with an irritated sigh at the spots of rain pattering on the windshield.

 

“So you have that to look forward to,” I chuckled.

 

“Lord Manwë said the same thing,” he shrugged.

 

“He steals my jokes,” I told him.

 

By this time we were proceeding at sixty miles an hour along a dual carriageway that looked as if it would never end. The land in Essex is flat with very few distinguishing natural features, so unlike the island I had left. In the end, we turned off the A133 onto the Colchester Road

 

“Nearly there,” the Maedhros lookalike told me.

 

After turning down a couple of other, shorter roads we arrived in Frinton on Sea. He drove along the Esplanade, the road facing the sea, until we reached the edge of the large village. Skirting around a public house car park we joined a newer road that led to the theme park.

 

“This road is new,” ‘Maedhros’ told me. “It was not here last year.”

 

I envied his scintillating conversation and made a vow to myself that I would try to learn from him. Mentally, I could hear Jesse chuckle.

 

 

 


	16. The Silmarillion Theme Park

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mairon arrives at the Silmarillion Theme Park and is not impressed.

 

[ ](http://s176.photobucket.com/albums/w181/chaotic_binky/OEAM/?action=view&current=CastleEntranceFinalcroppedsmaller.jpg)

 

 

The theme park was finished, looking pristine and new. The outside banners proclaimed that it was now open. Large trees grew around the entrance, which, incongruously, looked like a mediaeval fortification.

 

“Not my idea of First Age,” I said to the driver.

 

“Nor mine,” he agreed.

 

“Have you read The Silmarillion?”

 

“It was a condition of being employed. We had to sit an exam on it before being offered the job.”

 

“Lord Manwë is very thorough,” I remarked.

 

“Where is he lord of?” We drove onto an access road leading around the side of the large park.

 

“He is not really a lord,” I replied mischievously. “He just called himself that.” I wondered if he had really read the Silmarillion or whether he was full of shit. He should have known all about why Manwë was a lord.

 

“I don’t want to lose my job so I will keep calling him Lord,” he replied, sniffing as though something horrible had settled under his nose. “Anyway, he said you are to be called Lord Sauron.”

 

“My name is Mairon, actually; although, you can call me Lord if you like.” I smiled ingenuously. “Do they call you Lord Maedhros?”

 

“I wish. Three of us take it in turns to play him.”

 

The car drove to a parking space that had my name on it. The driver jumped out of the car and opened the boot. I took my flight bag and joined him. We were met by the car parking attendant who helped load my suitcases onto an electric cart. He shook my hand and asked me to sit on one of the seats so we could ride to the side entrance. He seemed a pleasant sort, so I did.

 

I was shown to a rooftop suite of rooms in the Valinor Hotel. The lift went up to the floor below and I needed my pass to enable it to travel to the floor above. I thanked the driver and the car park attendant and tipped them outrageously, which made me incredibly popular and would have a downward trickle effect due to the positive gossip it would generate.

 

I was left alone. Jesse had read the Tolkien books, whereas I never could. I had lived through the times and certainly did not want to read about a load of so called heroic elves crowing about my defeats. The elves were not much better than I was; although, I would willingly admit that no creature in Middle-earth, or otherwise, was as terrible as Melkor. Even I was only a pale, much watered down imitation. If you believe the elves I was just as bad as he was. However, even though I have much to be ashamed of, and believe me I do not feel good about my past at all, I was beloved by a greater proportion than of those who hated me.

 

The lands populated by humans were, for the most part, loyal to me. I made sure their crops were abundant, while those in Gondor were failing. I was, of course, blamed for the failure, but I had no hand in it. I simply made sure the crops of my subjects survived that which would ordinarily make them fail. I did not see why I should protect the crops of Rohan and Gondor; they could go to their elven allies for help like that. It is important that I mention this, because even the most base and evil entity anywhere normally has at least one redeeming feature and that was mine. I would not claim to being good in any other part of my life. However, when I read about the 20th Century dictators and the religious extremists of the 21st, I realise that I probably had a finer sense of morality than they did, and a greater degree of honesty. Not for once did I consider that I was doing the right thing, while they thought that their every action was acceptable and to be commended. I knew I was evil and wicked, even though it was not in as great a measure as the Elven Chronicles would have one believe, but they closed their eyes to their own wickedness, not even thinking they should justify it. I never denied what I was, and that is how I am able to still feel guilty about my past, even though I live a new and exemplary life in this one.

 

Manwë was wrong. It is not completely about who influences us, thus ultimately leading us astray, but about our own personality and our willingness to embrace that which we know we should not. I probably was influenced in my new life as well. Jesse had a fine sense of justice and morality. He had compassion, whereas those about him often had none, and he could see points of view from all sides. He is in my mind more than ever now I am here.

 

“Thinking again?” Manwë startled me from my thoughts.

 

“Like a bad penny...” I was not scared, even though one has every reason to be in Manwë’s presence; he is as psychotic as his brother, in my opinion.

 

“You can look around your rooms and unpack later,” Manwë said impatiently. “Also, do not tell the workers here that I am not a real lord. I heard what you said to the driver.”

 

“Okay, I am going home. Get someone else to help you with your Dagor Dagorath.”

 

“You are not doing this for me. Lord Eru desires it that we prepare for the coming battle and I know that even you will not go up against him.”

 

“I would do anything for Lord Eru. He is truly impartial, unlike you.” That Lord Eru desired me was obviously a thorn in Manwë’s side. There was much to be used in the revelation that I was working for Lord Eru rather than Manwë.

 

“I will show you around.” Manwë bid me to follow him. “Here is your bedroom; you can look around it later. The bathroom has a wet room, traditional bath, Jacuzzi, toilet and bidet; the sitting room has state of the art, thought controlled media built in. The kitchen you can find out about yourself.”

 

“You cannot cook, can you? I can cook. My father taught me how.”

 

“Good for you,” Manwë snapped.

 

 


	17. The Valar of Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mairon finds out the true reason why he is at the theme park.

 

[ ](http://s176.photobucket.com/albums/w181/chaotic_binky/OEAM/?action=view&current=CrossroadsSignFinal.jpg)

 

 

We walked in silence to the crowded park. The central formal gardens held hidden rides and attractions. In the more open spaces, stood rollercoasters and theme rides. The House of Horrors was called Baraddûr, even though it was not built until the Second Age. Similarly, the Forest of Mirkwood was there, as was the Greenwood, and so was Imladris.

  

“Someone got their ages mixed up,” I remarked. 

  

“The more nerdy humans have already lodged complaints about the themes. If Peter Jackson Jr can get away with such shit, I don’t see why we cannot as well.” 

  

“What about Dol Guldur?” 

  

“Dol Guldur is a water ride. There are singing orcs and uruk-hai, catchy music themes and cute little necromancers everywhere. It ends with the boat crashing down a slope and through a waterfall.” 

  

The whole area had a Disney type feel to it. The principle characters of the books were played by actors, who paraded around the park greeting people and posing for photographs. The elves were pretty young men and women. There were plenty of dwarves, mainly in the ‘Bejewelled Mines of Moria Wonder Tour’, and even the haggard Istari were represented by ones who looked barely out of infancy. 

  

The Rohan restaurant sold fast food, as did the Doriath Eatery, while the Caradhras restaurant, at the top of a man-made mountain in the dead centre of the park, served more formal fare. There was a massive soft play and ball pit area for small children, which was called the Eluréd and Elurín Woodland Nursery. Manwë said parents could safely leave their children there for a couple of hours while they went off to do other things. He thought it most amusing.

 

The whole park was divided into several ‘lands’ around the central area.  Food places and facilities abounded in each land. The rides were particular in theme to that area, as one would expect. I was agog to find out how happy a place the Himring stronghold might be. I was also intrigued by the re-enactment of the fall of Gondolin, which occurred twice daily at noon and an hour before closing.

 

“I hope you do not expect me to walk around in a Sauron outfit.”

 

“You would whine it was not authentic enough,” Manwë replied.

 

“How come no one is looking at you? You do not look exactly normal, do you?”

 

“They see me as an ordinary person. I am practised in the art of illusion, as indeed you are.”

 

We walked to the Númenor Underwater Experience and entered through a side door. Manwë led me along a tunnel to a large suite of offices. He introduced me by my human name and then we went into my new office.

 

On every wall there was a huge telescreen, which showed various areas of the park. Some of the visitors had green auras.

 

“Touch one of the people surrounded by green,” Manwë told me.

 

I shrank away immediately I had done so. Images of the person flashed through my mind of the most sickening sort. I might have been amused by them, had I still been Sauron, but now I was Mairon I was revolted and horrified by what I saw.

 

“He is a child abuser,” I said quickly. “The woman he is with does not know his past. He has fantasies about raping and killing her two children, and he intends to do so. He does not think he will be caught, mainly because he was not caught last time he raped and killed a child. That child was snatched from someone’s garden. He also likes to torture animals and has done so to many dogs and cats. He once poured petrol over a horse and set it alight.”

 

“Not even you were that evil,” Manwë told me. “You killed children, but you never raped them. Even though what you did was reprehensible, and you are never to think that I am excusing your actions, your killing of children was swift and gave them only a few moments of terror. The alternative was months of slowly starving to death, every moment filled with the most unimaginable fear, not to mention being exposed to other horrors that abounded in your home.”

 

“I would never leave a child where an orc could abuse them,” I replied, knowing still that what I had done was very wrong.

 

“Even if you had set the children free the wild animals would have eaten them.”

 

“There is no moral argument. Murder is murder,” I heard Jesse say in my mind and I repeated it to Manwë. He was not really there, but his memory was. Many years before, we had compared views on morality. Jesse wanted to kill every abuser of children; he saw the sharp end of abuse when he had to treat the innocent injured. Sometimes he saw them die, but I could never tell him of my past because I feared he would hate me. I always agreed with his views, even though I was one of those whom he would consider worthy of the death penalty. I know in my heart that he was right. That is the guilt I live with, and yet, I was never as bad as I was portrayed. It matters not that I did not abuse children, but it does matter that I ended their lives, even though Manwë thought it was for the best when considering what else could have happened to them. I caused the circumstances that led to the children being there. If I had not done that then most of them would have lived and that is the stain upon my conscience I have to bear.

 

“Murder is indeed murder, but some people deserve it,” Manwë told me. We looked at the screen again. “He deserves it.”

 

“I am not willing to kill him. He should face justice.”

 

“He will spend five years in prison and bounce straight back after killing another child,” Manwë retorted. “You recognise evil for what it is. Take that part of his soul which is evil, and kill it.”

 

“Would that not make me a killer?” I asked.

 

“You are not killing his soul, or him, but you are ridding him of his evil.”

 

“Why can’t you do it?”

 

“Lord Eru has other plans for me. No doubt you will be happy to hear that I will leave as soon as you are confident.”

 

“That does please me somewhat,” I smiled. “In fact, I am overjoyed.”

 

“Reach in to the screen and take the evil part of his soul,” Manwë ordered, stung to the core because I did not like him.

 

My hand passed through the screen and I took the green aura that surrounded the man. He carried on walking, as if nothing had happened. The woman put her arm through his and he gave her a small kiss on the cheek.

 

“I hope she and her children are all right. It seems too easy.”

 

“It is easy because Lord Eru has made it so for you. Now kill it.”

 

I hesitated and Manwë ordered me again to kill the evil.

 

Námo appeared beside me. “It is good that Sauron hesitates. Had he been willing, I would have been most suspicious.”

 

There is no love lost between Námo and myself. However, even I know the value of having the Vala of death on my side.

 

“Sauron, you have to retrieve and kill the evil so that Lord Námo can take it away,” Manwë explained.

 

“Why does it have to be killed?” I looked at Manwë. “You said the evil part would travel beyond the circles of the world and be gone forever.”

 

“Yes, the evil part of the soul does pass beyond the circles of the world, but the evil has to be removed first because it can split away from the part of the soul that carries it.” Manwë seemed impatient, but I was not going to follow orders that I did not understand.

 

“If it split away, the evil could transfer back to whence it came,” Námo said. “Evil has no physical mass, so there is nowhere safe for me to hold it.”

 

“Yes, but why is it that only I can kill the evil?”

 

“Because evil is attracted to you. You understand the nature of evil and the importance of keeping it under control. Furthermore, you know how to do this,” Manwë barked impatiently.

 

“Are you saying you are both incapable of killing evil?” I asked, secretly pleased that I was able to do something they could not. I appreciated the irony of my position, even if they did not.

 

Both Valar nodded.

 

“This is all above board,” Manwë told me. “I assure you, there is no ulterior motive.” How I distrust those who say things like that.

 

Námo nodded when I looked at him. I still did not trust them an inch.

 

 

 


	18. Manwe's Idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mairon and Namo strike up a guarded friendship.

 

 

“All right,” I said heavily. My fingers closed around the green mass and I crushed it into a small, solid ball, about the size of a pea, before giving it to Námo. “Take it.”

 

On the desk stood a large glass jar, which Námo dropped the green ball into. He smiled and told me that he was sure we would make a great team. I was somewhat disconcerted by that, but said nothing. He had hated me in my former life and rained curses down on my head that he said were everlasting. However, Lord Eru is above all, so I can only assume he removed Námo’s malign influence. How irksome that must have been for him.

 

“This will be your main job while supposedly running the theme park,” Manwë told me. “You have under-managers, who will actually run the park for you. We had to give you an unimpeachable title so that you would not be bothered by underlings.”

 

I spent the rest of the afternoon with Manwë watching me. We freed just under six hundred men, women and children from the evil parts of their souls. The glass jar was full. Námo gave it to Manwë, who took it away to who knows where.

 

The park was now closed. Manwë disappeared without saying farewell, because he is an oik, and Námo told me that he would be leaving for the halls. I went back to my suite at the hotel.

 

The hotel reception hall was full of guests. There was no access to the park at night but they had the benefits of other delights within the hotel and grounds. I booked a massage in the Harad Bath Salon after enjoying dinner in the Belfalas Brasserie.

 

The masseuse pummelled the muscles along my shoulders while telling me that he was supposed to be a Glorfindel lookalike. “No one has any idea what he looks like though,” he laughed. “But that is the beauty of fiction.”

 

“I have no idea either.” I smiled, my eyes shut. The massage was strong and deep, almost to the point of pain. I was not lying; I had never seen Glorfindel, although I had heard plenty about his fairness of face and strong beauty; not to mention his sublime physique and innate goodness. It was all tosh. My Jesse had the same qualities and he was human, thus proving that Glorfindel was not that special, and my only one was probably more handsome as well.

 

Every day, for two years, we rescued people from the darker parts of their souls. I could only do it if I looked upon it that way. Námo and I developed a guarded friendship, more of a toleration really. He never said aloud, but I had the strong impression that he distrusted Manwë as well and that was the theoretical cement that held us together. It was pointless to broach the subject; Valar stick together no matter what, but it might be useful in the future.

 

After a couple of years Manwë disrupted our peace by announcing that he had bigger plans for us. Námo sighed and asked what he had been doing for the past two years, while we had been saving thousands of people from themselves.

 

“I have been doing research,” Manwë announced proudly. “We have found a way to gather the evil parts of people’s souls without you having to sit at a screen and pluck them away manually.”

 

“Really? How?” I asked disbelievingly.

 

“Don’t encourage him,” Námo muttered to me.

 

“You can be a television evangelist and send your message over the airways to everyone who wishes to hear it. That way a two way channel is set up and the evil will be sucked from them without you having to do a thing; it will merely respond to your words. The evil will be sucked into a containment box, ready to be crushed as you do now.”

 

“Why would I want to be a television evangelist?” I asked, not believing my ears.

 

“Because they preach to thousands of people, millions even if they are picked up by the satellite and cable channels,” Manwë said enthusiastically. “You get about a thousand evil parts of souls every day, but you can get tens of thousands, or even more, with this new way of doing things. It is Lord Eru’s command that you do so.”

 

“It is always Lord Eru’s command, isn’t it?” I remarked dryly.

 

“Careful, just in case it is,” Námo muttered.

 

“Do I want to sit all day in a television studio?” I asked. “No, I do not.”

 

“You will do it in front of a live, paid audience in a real church,” Manwë said gleefully. “It is going to be really huge. Eru Enterprises have bought out Fox and Sky and a few other media channels, even though they resisted. That was fun seeing them agreeing to sell, even though every fibre in their bodies was screaming that they should not. Who can refuse a Valar?” Manwë chuckled, while we sighed. “Anyway, the satellite and cable channels with the highest viewing figures have been scheduled to air your programme next week. You have five days to read the Bible and come up with a sermon. I have brought some DVDs to show you how these preachers operate. They preach love, but many are so intolerant of just about anyone and everything that they are more akin to the great deceiver, Melkor.”

 

 


	19. Sauron, the Television Evangelist.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Manwe leads Mairon in a new direction.

 

 

Six days later, I stood in front of an assembled mass in a large-windowed, modern style, soulless church. Large flower stands stood at the sides of the stage and an altar sat towards the back of the stage. In the front were several microphone stands.

 

I walked on stage and introduced myself in an upbeat and totally false way. The crowd stood before me and I pandered to all their prejudices, using the Old Testament to do so, while watching the green rising from each and every one of them. In a flourish of improvisation I leapt from the stage and touched every one of them, running through the rows and proclaiming the joy of the Lord while the green mass followed behind me.

 

“Look at those who lie on the floor giggling. They are filled with the joy of the Lord. Their evil is no more and through the Lord’s grace I am crushing it within my hands. The love of the Lord is within me and the evil shall be no more,” I said as more clamoured towards me so I could touch them too. Námo stood beside me taking the green balls from my hand and putting them into a small glass jar. He had a most cynical expression on his face. His face expressed what I felt inside.

 

The sermon was such a success that I was invited to talk at huge arenas. Of course, I could not run into the crowd, but this is where the two way connection that Manwë talked about came into its own. Námo and I had already seen the huge masses of evil that would form before us when the show was aired on the television. The two way communication allowed a remote removal of the evil so it could travel to wherever I was. It was the same as when I preached in public.

 

“You are the only one who can handle such large amounts of evil,” Námo once said to me. “You understand it and have no fear when dealing with it.”

 

“Yet, it does scare me in this life,” I told him. “I find it repellent and it is with the greatest revulsion that I handle it.”

 

“You know, I think Lord Manwë must have done something similar to you. You seem to have hardly any evil left in your soul. Or maybe you lost it naturally because of the life you led.” Námo seemed perplexed, but it was something I had wondered about as well.

 

“My old self would have assumed the evil within him and become more powerful.”

 

“That is why Lord Manwë would not let you do this alone. Anyone can put green balls in a jar.”

 

“I am glad you are here. I worry that one day the evil will arrive in such quantities that I will be overwhelmed. I think your presence stops that from happening.”

 

“The quantities that arrive here are often too much for one of us alone; even I would find it difficult to manage and would shrink in the face of such a quantity if I were on my own.”

 

For a year, I had been preaching and collecting evil. Most days I delivered one sermon while on Sunday I did two. It amazed me that so many supposedly God fearing people had such large quantities of evil attached to them. Not all did, however. Those who only embraced the teachings of Christ and tried to live using his direction as a model for life had far less evil in them than those who preferred to base their beliefs on the retribution of the end times and the Day of Judgement; but they were also of far fewer numbers and formed a very small minority. The charismatics, the retributionist groups, the cults, the followers of the prosperity gospels, and those who looked forward to the end times, were fond of singling out sections of society to judge and hate, and just about everyone, apart from them and the members of their particular church, were damned and going to Hell. They were, by far, in the majority and extremely vociferous with it. They were not followers of the ways of good, even though they thought they were; they were weak minded and tribal in their beliefs, choosing to take the easy road by hating, rather than working hard to promote loving one another.

 

I am a Maia, but when I was younger I had no idea of this. My dad took me to the Greek Orthodox Church and I have only positive memories of those who went there. They knew what love was and, for the most part, followed the goodness that was in their hearts. The people I saw in the crowded arenas were completely different and I wondered how they could worship the same god, as their beliefs and actions were so dissimilar. I do not have faith in the same way as humans do. I know Lord Eru exists because I have been within his presence; perhaps he should benefit the humans in that way as well. From what I understood he is their God as well, in all but name.

 

“So many humans are evil while professing to be good,” I said dispiritedly. “I take the evil from one set of people and more come along. It is never ending.”

 

“On the other hand, crime rates are dropping, especially hate crimes,” Námo said brightly.

 

“Look at this.” I handed a letter signed by five of the most famous televangelists, all demanding that I stop working for free as their finances were being impacted.

 

“Tune in to their programmes and take the evil from them,” Námo suggested.  

 

“No need for that,” Manwë said brightly as he materialised in-between us. “Because of your work and that of others, we have reached our target.”

 

“Others?” Námo asked, looking annoyed because he had not been party to any scheme that ran alongside ours.

 

“We did not target Christianity only,” Manwë replied, as if we should have known. “All the religions in the world are much better off because of my intervention. Lord Eru is delighted with me, oh, and also with you.” He looked like the cat that licked the cream and it did not sit well with Námo or me. Both of us knew he was not being completely honest with us. I would have loved to have known who the other people were because he told me, originally, that I was the only one who could take the evil from souls. He always was an out and out liar.

 

“So what happens now?”I asked.

 

 


	20. Back to Kos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mairon goes back to Kos to say goodbye to Jesse and Uncle John

“We wait for Ar-Pharazôn and his warriors to be released from the Caves of the Forgotten,” Námo replied. 

“And so it will begin,” Manwë sighed.

“Well, the end times lot will be happy,” I chuckled.

“You might want to go back home and see everyone for the last time,” Manwë said. “You will need to say goodbye.”

I took the first plane back to Kos.

Kos is ever changing. A new hotel was being built on the plot of land next to my home. Happily, my plot was large enough for the noise not to be too intrusive; however, the quiet days of listening to the sea were over. In the future, if we were ever able to enjoy it, the resort noise would be overwhelming. If I had not spent so many happy years living in this house I would have sold it.

After unpacking, I walked to Spiro’s Taverna where I was greeted by his son and daughter-in-law. Spiro and his wife had retired to Kalymnos shortly after I had left. 

“It is good to see you are still strong,” Spiro’s son, Yannis, said to me as he placed a bottle of cloudy, sharp limonade in front of me. “We often wondered when you would come back. I will write to my mother and tell her that we have seen you again; she will be most excited and will want to know how you are doing.” He lowered his voice. “We have kept Jesse and your father’s graves nice for you. We wash the headstones down once a week and we planted flowers there. Do you want us to keep doing it?”

“I am too old,” I replied. Indeed, to Yannis I must have looked at least eighty-five years of age.

“Then that is settled,” he said happily. “Do not pay me anymore. My wife will do this because you are such good friends of my parents.”

“I will be going to visit the graves as soon as I finish my drink,” I said with a smile.

Jesse’s white marble grave sparkled in the afternoon sun as did my father’s. Around the headstones were planted small scented flowers, which swayed slightly in the small zephyrs that wafted around the churchyard. Even though I am immortal it had been a fancy of mine that I would one day die and be buried alongside Jesse, together in death and all eternity. It would never happen, but whereas mortals dream of winning the lottery, I dreamt of being with the only one I had ever loved. It was too much to bear that the coming Dagor Dagorath would separate us forever. Jesse’s grave was a physical reminder that he had once existed and I would not even have that in the time to come. I still had the lock of hair that I took just before his funeral, but over time it had lost the shine and looked as dead as he was. It hurt to look at it so I put it away.

How my heart hurt at having to say goodbye. I knew not when the time would come but it was fast approaching. There was nothing to do except come to terms with the situation. I thanked my dad for giving a little boy the chance of a new life, one surrounded by happiness and love. I told Jesse how much my heart hurt at having to say goodbye to him and promised that I would never love another. A Maia loves forever and no other can enter his heart if love has already taken possession. This is how I know that the love I felt for Thuringwethil and Melkor was false. 

I went back to the house, after stopping at the bakery for some honey and rosewater pastries. Everything was as I left it. The double doors once again looked out onto the beach and I delighted in the sea breeze blowing softly into my face. The voile curtains billowed behind me as I looked at the wide expanse of calm blue.

The rest of the day was spent meeting up with old friends and telling them of my heavily edited travels. The postmaster had delivered an airmail letter from my brother dated a month before. He knew I was in England but had sent the letter to my house in Kos anyway. I found that rather odd but thought no more of it. There was also another letter from a German legal firm.

My brother wrote that his wife had died of a heart attack the previous day; she was in the early stages of Alzheimer’s disease so he saw it as a blessing. They would be holding a small funeral, but he would not be offended if I could not attend. He said it was hard for the elderly to travel and he feared it might be too much for me. He was using a walking frame and he thought I might have similar mobility problems. I made a note to send him a card explaining that I had been away and only received his letter when I arrived back. I would also send some flowers to her grave. 

I opened the second envelope. Inside was a letter from my brother’s solicitor stating that my brother was dead. His estate had gone to his children and grandchildren, but he had instructed that an enclosed letter be sent to me. 

I sat on the beach, overwhelmed by sadness, the opened letter in my hand. My brother told me that he could not live without his wife anymore, and so he would not. He apologised for not having the strength that I had after Jesse’s death and for leaving me.

Everyone whom I had known in my life was either dead, too young or very old. It felt like the passing of an era, with myself being the last survivor. My heart hurt to think about it, and I was assailed by a deep and unrelenting sense of loss and sadness when I did. The reason and passage of life seemed so futile. The Dagor Dagorath would end it all and now I was impatiently looking forward to it; anything to end this sense of loss and isolation. One can be surrounded by friends, yet still be the loneliest person in the world.


	21. Melkor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melkor's face appears in the sky and the people below think that he is Jesus.

A week later, I was sitting on the beach reading the Silmarillion for the first time, skipping the Ainulindalë and the rather judgmental Valaquenta, trying to find out who the main protagonists might be in the final battle, if anything was written about it. I had told Jesse when I visited his grave that morning, and in my mind I could see him chuckling that I had finally picked up a book he loved. Of course I looked up the parts about me; they were not very favourable, but I expected that. Perhaps I was not meant to delve into future events.

The air around became humid and a chill ran through my very being. I put the book down. A sound raced towards me as if it was composed of physical mass. The loud bang, smashed through the air, worse than any thunder, as if Thor had struck the circles of the Earth with his hammer and rent a hole in its very fabric. A jagged black hole tore apart the blue sky, leaving the edges in tatters. Darkness rained down upon us as a blast of hot air raced across the surface of the sea. Almost as quickly as it happened the sky sealed shut with an almighty crashing sound. During this, the land did not move or shake, even though the sky did. The sound was in the air only and it felt as though reality had shifted for an instant. A shower of red dust fell slowly, discolouring the beach. The air was quiet. Work on the hotel next to my land had already stopped. The music at the Taverna ceased and I could imagine Yannis and his wife crossing themselves in alarm.

This was the beginning. Dagor Dagorath had started. There was nothing anyone could do to stop it.

On the walk back to my house, Námo appeared beside me. “It has begun.”

“I know.”

“The opening of the Door of Night tore open the sky, Melkor has escaped. Ar-Pharazôn and his warriors are released from the Caves of the Forgotten. The dust that falls has crossed from Aman.”

“How is that possible?” I asked.

“The missing continent is now within the bounds of the Earth.” Námo smiled and looked at the book I was carrying. “Perhaps you should have read this before today.”

I shrugged. “I did not feel the inclination.”

“You would not have found much out anyway.” 

“Will Aman be visible to everyone?” I asked. 

“For a few hours,” Námo replied. “Conspiracy theorists will say that Atlantis has risen from the sea, but it will not matter. Everything will cease to exist soon.”

“Including us?”

Námo sighed. “I hope not. I made the prophecies given to me by Lord Eru, but they were not clear and were somewhat contradictory as to our fates.”

“Then we have to hope for the best,” I decided.

“Let us hope we are not disappointed then. If you ever repeat what I am about to tell you I will deny ever having said so, but in the coming battle Lord Manwë will demand that you fight on the side of evil. If you want to survive at all, it is imperative that you refuse.”

“How can he betray me so?” I asked, shocked to the core.

“I have to go now; he is calling me. At sunset, everyone will be drawn up to fight the greatest battle that has ever been fought in the whole of time.” Námo disappeared into thin air, leaving me alone and bewildered.

I had carried out Manwë’s bidding and lived an exemplary life since being reborn. How could he still think of me as evil, I wondered. After changing my jacket and tucking Jesse’s lock of hair in the pocket, I left the house and walked with haste to the main square. The villagers were crossing themselves and looking shocked. Some said an earthquake must have happened, while others posed that a volcano somewhere abroad must have erupted with such ferocity that the noise was heard all around the world. No one could explain the ripped sky, except in religious terms. All around, there was wailing; some were screaming. Babies and young children cried loudly while others looked quiet and terrified. Many were praying, their hands to the sky, calling to the Holy Mother and God to protect them.

“Old man, are you hurt?” Yannis’ wife asked me. She had run from the taverna to check. Her floral print dress was covered with the still falling red dust.

“I am fine,” I replied kindly. “The noise is over now. I think we will be all right.”

“The weather has been so odd for the past few years that I wonder if that has anything to do with it.” She looked relieved and used her handkerchief to dust the red soil from my shoulders; it was not falling in such great amounts as before.

“I am off to see if Jesse and my father’s graves are all right,” I told her. “He will want to know what happened. I will tell him.”

“Say hello from me,” she laughed, looking unsure but relieved that somewhere in the sea of aberration there was a small amount of normality. “On your way back, come to see us, so we can know you are safe.” I must have looked doddery to her, even though I felt perfectly strong and well. 

“I will stop by for some mezes and a glass of wine,” I told her, before walking away.

“We will have it ready for you,” she called, walking back to the taverna. I never saw her again. I never saw any of them. Not in that life.

“You cannot go in,” the security guard advised me when I reached the graveyard. “All the graves are open. When that noise happened the ground opened up and everywhere is a mess. It will take some time for them to clear it all up.”

“But I must,” I said, stunned. 

“I am sorry...” He reeled backwards while I clung onto a railing. The whole earth shook with a single violent tremor lasting for a few seconds only. The guard looked to the sky and pointed, his face filled with rapturous joy. “Look, it is beautiful,” he exclaimed. “It is the face of Jesus.”

All around the people looked up in awe, crossing themselves and shouting that they were blessed because they had seen the face of God. Some were on their knees praying while others picked their children up and held them closer to the sky, laughing and smiling and asking for blessings.

In the sky Melkor’s face looked down. He was more beautiful than I remembered him. It was no wonder that I fell for him. However, he left me cold. Not a shred of feeling remained for him.

“It is the devil himself,” an old woman dressed in a black nun’s habit shouted to everyone. She stopped just behind me, holding her cross to the sky and shouting that the evil one be gone. “He comes in a false guise. He is the Deceiver! He is Satan himself.”

“He is Melkor and you are right,” I told her, mentally and physically guarding myself. I faced her so he could not see me.

She smiled. “Only those who are not blind can see.” It would seem an obvious saying, but I knew what she meant and the deeper meaning behind it.

“What? Are you crazy? How can he be evil? Look at his face.” The security guard looked angry. 

“I wish I was,” I replied and started to walk back to the square where I could hear the people shouting and calling for blessings. Then Melkor stopped smiling and the people began to scream. There was bedlam as everyone tried to flee the terror, but it was in their hearts and so there was nowhere to hide.


	22. The Battlefield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone on Earth dies and their souls rise up to fight in the Dagor Dagorath. Melkor and Manwe argue as to what side Mairon will fight on.

Námo reappeared beside me; it seemed that Manwë had not wanted him for long. He pointed to the graveyard. “The ashes of the dead will arise and the land will be cleansed. So says the prophecy.”

“That is what I suspected,” I told him. “I did not even get a chance to say a final goodbye.”

“It is time for us to ascend to the battlefield.” 

We stepped outside time and creation and walked our predestined path to the stars. I looked down at the Earth, far below, to the people running around like frenzied ants, consumed with panic.

“What about them?” I asked softly, not wishing any of them to die in agony, for to die they surely would.

“I will take them. I am everywhere on Earth at the same moment, and I will take them all.”

“They will not suffer?”

“I will make sure of it.” Námo and I stood high above the world. He opened his arms and called to the souls to come to him. The people below gracefully dropped to the ground in a spreading wave. A sea of humans lay dead on the ground, all of them looking at peace. Their souls flew upwards, towards the skies, like a white mist.

An incoming plane crashed in the distance, the cars driving along the high street drove into one another and a bus hit a house instead of turning the corner. Out at sea, a boat crashed into the marina and the windsurfers’ sails fell flat onto the sea. In the countryside fields, cows and sheep lay lifeless on the grass and the birds dropped to the ground. A dog on a lead lay beside its owner.

“Come, your time is near,” Namo said and took hold of my hand. We ascended to the battlefield and landed before the greatest mass I had ever seen in the whole of my existence.

Good and evil stood opposing one another, while I stood watching from the side. My clothing changed into that of Sauron’s and I held my sword and mace in my hands. I looked towards the good side and they shuddered in horror. As Sauron, I still had that effect of projecting a sense of fear and dread. I was the embodiment of malice and malevolence and I am sure I would have enjoyed such power had I never lived my second life. It seemed terribly unfair that I had changed back to my old form. On my finger sat the One Ring; the one that Isildur hacked from my finger and the hobbit threw in the fires of Mount Doom. I took it off immediately and put it in my pocket. Immediately, the evil aura left my presence and the ring’s power was rendered ineffective. I looked again at the good side, they did not shrink away, they merely looked confused.

Manwë stood at the front of the good side. Beside him stood the remaining Valar, various Maiar and the Istari. Behind them, armed to the hilt, stood the elves from Aman and the Halls of Waiting. The human souls that rose from the Earth stood with Ar-Pharazôn and his army of warriors and the dwarves of Middle-earth. Surprisingly, there were many animals in attendance, including the mighty eagles from Taniquetil and two of their most notable descendents, the eagle lords Gwahir and Thorondor, whereas the evil side seemed to have hardly any at all, except for those with scales and tentacles.

I looked towards the evil side. Melkor stood proudly, face marked with the desire for vengeance. He posed with his usual air of arrogance. As always, he was confident of victory. Orcs, half-orcs, goblins, uruk-hai, men, trolls, dragons, balrogs, nazgûl, wraiths, demons, spiders and other fearsome creatures that I could not recognise stood impatiently, waiting for the command to fight. At Melkor’s side stood the various Maiar whom he had corrupted, including Saruman. Thuringwethil stood directly next to Melkor. She looked at me and smirked, making a great show of slipping her hand through Melkor’s arm and giving him a light kiss on the cheek. I felt nothing and laughed at her. Too many thousands of years had passed since our affair and in the meantime I had experienced true love. Why settle for a duck when I could have a swan?

“You are to fight on the side of evil,” Manwë said imperiously. “You did not think that we would allow one such as you to fight on the side of good, did you?” He laughed cruelly, while I simply stared at him. 

Thuringwethil laughed loudly in the background. “He thought he would be on the side of good.”

“I will not fight for evil,” I replied. “I have no alliance with Melkor. That ceased many thousands of years ago. I choose to fight for good, or not at all.”

“You will not fight for good,” Manwë warned.

Melkor wandered over. “Why is the battle delayed?”

“Sauron is refusing to fight on your side and he is too evil to fight on ours.”

“He is certainly too good to fight on the side of evil,” Melkor told him, sounding more reasonable than I had ever heard him to be. “We do not want him and he will not fight for us. Anyway, I have Gilthrang, he is more powerful than my miserable former servant ever was.” He looked at me as if he despised every cell in my body, which he probably did.

“I will fight for good or I will not fight at all,” I told them, not believing that I had said such a thing without the vengeance of Lord Eru visiting me and dispensing a swift kick up the arse.

“He will not fight for evil,” Melkor decided. “His heart is healed from the corruption I visited upon it and so he is of no use to me. He is ruined in my eyes.” He looked at me. “It is no wonder that Thuringwethil is repulsed by your presence.” He laughed and walked away, after telling me that he hoped I died horribly for betraying him so. 

“Likewise,” I called to him. I looked at Manwë and restated that I should be allowed to fight on the side of good.

Námo appeared between us. “Sauron should fight for us. He has proved himself more than worthy.”

“He cannot,” Manwë crowed victoriously. “Every time he took the evil from a person on Earth he killed part of their soul. He is a murderer of millions. How can he fight for good when he is so evil?”

“He did your bidding,” Námo replied, his voice edged with fury. “By deceiving him you did so to me as well, and yet I will fight on the side of good.”

“He always had the choice not to,” Manwë almost sang.

“You told him it was Lord Eru’s wish,” Námo said. “Therefore he had no choice. You assured him he was only removing evil when he showed a reluctance to harm. Therefore, he has done no wrong.”

“And yet he has,” Manwë smirked. “It is Lord Eru’s desire...”

Námo struck Manwë across the face. “Liar! You invoke Lord Eru’s name too often and to suit your own purposes. Go and fight with your brother.”


	23. Dagor Dagorath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle commences!

“We are assured of winning,” Melkor boomed to his minions. “The two mightiest of the Valar are fighting. An army that is divided will always fall.”

The noise was deafening as the minions cheered. Melkor grew impatient and shouted that Manwë and Námo decide one way or the other what was to happen, or else he would charge forward and start the fighting without them.

“Lord Eru prophesied that Sauron will fight on the side of evil and we will win,” Manwë warned Námo.

“He is not the hinge upon which the battle depends,” Námo snarled.

Manwë grabbed hold of my arm and dragged me across to the good side. “Who here would fight alongside the Dark Lord, Sauron the Deceiver? Some of you will know him as Gorthaur, or the Abhorred Dread, or even The Lord of the Rings. Who will fight by his side?” 

An elf whose light glowed particularly strong stepped forward. “I refuse to fight alongside such a foul being. How can he claim to be good when his malevolent heart is so filled with malice?” My heart did not feel as though it was filled with malice and I wondered why he would say such a thing.

His face became clearer and my knees nearly gave way. “Jesse?”

“The great Glorfindel will not fight alongside you, despicable one,” Manwë proclaimed loudly.

“He is not Glorfindel. He is Jesse,” I said. I looked at Námo. “He is Jesse. He is my husband. You know this is true.” I sounded desperate because I was.

“How dare you,” Glorfindel yelled angrily, his face livid with rage. He thrust his sword into my chest with the impetuosity he was always famous for. “Enough of your filthy deception and lies. Die like the dog you are.”

“I am not lying,” I said as I fell backwards. “You are Jesse.” 

A small flicker of what seemed like confusion passed within Glorfindel’s eyes. I knew that somewhere deep in his psyche there was a memory, one that was just out of reach. How could he not know me, I wondered. I ruefully considered that Glorfindel deliberately suppressed his memory of me because he now knew who I had once been and wanted nothing more to do with me, in spite of the happiness we had enjoyed while Mairon and Jesse. He turned away and announced to the crowd that he had made the first kill and my heart broke. It was all going so terribly wrong.

“I have killed the Great Deceiver. Melkor, take warning,” Glorfindel crowed. “You are next.”

Melkor laughed loudly and called to him that killing me was like tripping over a little human girl. Yet, I was not dead. It was handy that everyone believed I was though. I might even survive the battle.

Námo knelt beside me. “Stay still and let the battle rage around you. I know that you speak the truth. There has been much wrong done unto you.”

“Námo, get over here. What are you doing with him?” Manwë yelled.

“He is stealing his belongings,” Melkor shouted, to the great delight of his followers.

“I am seeing to his soul,” Námo called over.

“Get over here. He is not worth it.”

Námo told me not to move and to play dead. He was sure Lord Eru would avenge me. I dared not breathe or react to anything, even when Manwë told Námo that I was no loss and had served my purpose.

“Glorfindel, you made the first kill, but not of anyone from my side. Your sword struck the first, but mine will strike last.” The army behind Melkor laughed, snorted, roared and made as much noise as they could in support.

“Before we start, I want conformation with my own eyes that Sauron the Deceiver is dead,” Elbereth announced. “I do not want anyone making a sly kill that I could have made with my own sword.”

In spite of Námo’s protestations, she walked over. I played dead for all I was worth. She leant over me, looking away from the two armies.

“An invisible shield will protect you from evil. It is all I can do. Make sure not to move because good can still reach you.” She stood up and announced that she was satisfied I was dead. “The foul one is indeed dead. It never hurts to make sure.” There was a crash of thunder and I heard her walking away. All was silent.

“Are you truly scared of one who is of such low consequence?” Melkor taunted through the silence, seemingly unable to believe that any Valar would want to protect me. I could hardly believe it myself.

“Not scared, just suspicious that this is a grand deception of yours,” Elbereth replied.

There was a second crash of thunder and all around became silent.

The battle started on the third crash of thunder. It flew from the outermost circle of the world and struck the ground causing it to tremble. The two armies flew together and the battle commenced. What a wondrous and terrifying sight it was to behold. 

After a rather bloody fight, Glorfindel slew the bitch, Thuringwethil, and serve her right. Gandalf sliced Saruman in two with nothing more than a wave of his hand; he had grown immense in his power. The sons of Fëanor fought on the side of good and dispatched the Nazgûl with ease. There would be some who were surprised at that, I was sure, but I was not. Even though they committed some terrible acts, their motives were pure, or, at least, I thought they were.

Eärendil and Círdan struck from the side. They rammed Vingilot into the enemy lines and ran down a huge swath of them. The enemy swarmed up the sides of the ship and onto the deck. The two elves were rescued by Gwahir, who flew them behind the battle lines amid a hail of black-tipped arrows.

Celebrian, Celeborn, Galadriel and Ar-Pharazôn with his warriors, ran into a mass of goblins and began hacking them to death. Thranduil, Legolas, Oropher and the Mirkwood and Greenwood armies engaged a massive horde of orcs and uruk-hai, fighting viciously and killing many before falling themselves. I could not help thinking that Legolas looked nothing like he did in the movies.

Elbereth fought the Witch King and whooped with joy as she plunged her sword into his heart. It was not much of a fight; she was far more powerful than him. Manwë killed Melkor’s new friend Gilthrang after a long and protracted sword fight, while Nienna stopped weeping, jumped onto a dragon’s head and stabbed her dagger through both of its eyes. She leapt off as it fell down, and I swear I saw her chuckling. Oromë drove a herd of spectral horses through the enemy lines, rounding up a mass of wraiths and dispatching them as they tried to flit away.

Elrond and Ecthelion fought three balrogs and were joined by Glorfindel, who shouted, “Take that, varlet,” every time his sword connected. The balrogs found this highly amusing and started to imitate him, which drove him into a fury.

Several Maiar and the Istari, threw bolts of flame at Ungoliant, surrounding her with fire. She screamed as she burnt and they laughed. Radaghast pierced her belly and the contents spread in a wide puddle over the floor. He was always one to go too far.

Lórien, Estë and Námo fought the dragon Glaurung. The dragon reared up and breathed fire at them. They withstood the flames and held their own. When Glaurung dropped back down his heart was pierced by three swords. Vána, ever the opportunist, sliced the head from the scaly beast and waved her hand over the body. Flowers sprouted from its neck, while she giggled. It seemed to me that everyone was enjoying themselves immensely. Everyone except me.

Melkor was busy fighting Tulkas. They fought for hours, but were evenly matched in strength. I could see Tulkas despairing of ever overcoming his foe, and then his foot slipped and he fell. Túrin ran over and stabbed Melkor through the heart with his great black sword, Gurthang, as he leant over to kill Tulkas with his sword. 

“That is for Húrin and all of us who came after him,” Túrin yelled as he delivered blow after blow with his mighty sword into Melkor’s chest. But he was already dead. The Door of Night appeared before Námo. He took Melkor’s soul along with those of the enemy who were already dead and threw them into the Void.


	24. Glorfindel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle is over and Mairon is filled with grief. He decides to die.

Picture the battle field. Imagine, using the Earth as a guide, two armies whose vast numbers stretched beyond the horizon either way. It was the largest battle ever fought. There was none like it in the past, nor would there ever be in the future. Many from both sides lay dead, including the leaders of the evil side, and yet the fighting continued. It was only a matter of time before those on the side of good were victorious.

From a distance came a huge crashing roar that shook the very foundations of our existence. Námo stood in the middle of the battleground and announced that the Pelóri Mountains were levelled. No one fought, everyone watched to see what would happen next.

Fëanor was brought to stand opposite Námo. Yavanna joined them. The rest of the Valar stood behind them, except for Manwë who stood between Námo and Fëanor.

“You know what to do,” Yavanna said softly.

“I summon the first Silmaril from the Earth,” Fëanor boomed. The foundations of the battleground shook, but I was used to it all by now. The jewel flew up from the ground and Fëanor caught it.

“I summon the second Silmaril from the sea.” Everyone waited with baited breath to see what would happen. A huge wave sloshed over the battleground, soaking everyone but me. It seemed the sea could not break through the protective shell. Fëanor caught the second Silmaril and added it to the first one secure in his palm.

“I summon the third Silmaril from the air.” Everyone crouched down as a tornado swept towards the group. Good and bad, dead and alive, were sucked up into the vortex. Fëanor took the Silmaril and the tornado ceased suddenly, dropping those caught within it onto the ground.

The three jewels were laid out on Fëanor’s palm. He looked at them longingly before handing them to Yavanna.

The whole battleground seemed to compact. Aman moved nearer, or perhaps we moved instead.

Two twisted and blackened trunks stood together. Yavanna crushed the Silmarils in her hand and used the essence to rekindle the light, and the life, within the trees. On the left stood Telperion with dark, silvery leaves and on the right stood Laurelin with golden leaves. They stood so high that they must have touched the inner circle of the world. It was a long time since I had seen such a sight, and I looked in awe.

Gentle winds played through the branches and the leaves made an ethereal tinkling noise. We were bathed in a gentle gold and silver fused light. Both trees spread their radiance to the edges of the world. My eyes filled with tears as I thought back to the time I saw the original trees before Ungoliant destroyed them. I was newly formed and innocent then and I had everything to hope for. How different my plight was under the light of these new trees; I had no hope and my heart was empty. The trees were remade and the new life they signified was not for me, of that I was sure. My heart grieved and I was failing. 

Throughout the battle, the wound in my chest bled, even though I kept my hand pressed upon it. Breathing was hard. I needed to stay awake, but then I saw Glorfindel fall, killed by a stray arrow fired in celebration of the lighting of the trees, and I knew it was all over. I had tried, but all was lost. On the other hand, I would never have to see Glorfindel looking at me with hate and scorn in his eyes. That had been unbearable and it had shattered any hope I had left.

And then the end came. All around me they fell; every living being on the battlefield dropped gracefully to the ground, including the Valar. Nothing existed anymore. I had no idea how I was not affected, except that I had not fought in the battle. It was time to die. I removed my hand from the wound in my chest so that the blood could flow freely and I closed my eyes.


	25. The Meaning of Joy - Final Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse finds himself alone on a beach. Whose arms embrace him and rescue him from misery?

[ ](http://s176.photobucket.com/albums/w181/chaotic_binky/OEAM/?action=view&current=JesseandMaironFinalsmaller.jpg)

The sand under my feet was warm from the golden light, the source of which I could not divine, except that it must have come from Laurelin. All around my being wove the songs of creation. Trees grew behind me and the sea spread before me. Waves lapped gently at the shoreline while I wondered where I could be. Arda was being remade and all, man, elf and dwarf, could join in the song. The music, like a soft wave, flooded over me and permeated my very being. The tune was irresistible, as it was meant to be. I joined the song, one among the multitude of voices flowing on the breeze, and sang that my heart could be healed, knowing that whatever I had with Jesse was long in the past and rejected by him as false while in his true form as Glorfindel. The look of disgust on his face as he thrust his sword into my chest was still sharp in my memory. I would rather die a thousand deaths than see his revulsion again. I feared his rejection if we should ever meet again, to the point that I was afraid of even the memory.

The unutterable sadness of my existence assailed me. Lord Eru could have left me dead, but he did not. At least I was not in the Void. My brows furrowed as the pain of being alive overwhelmed me. My knees rested under my chin and I crossed my arms over my legs. Making myself as small as possible would not help or protect me, but it made me feel slightly more in control of my emotions.

I stiffened as two arms wrapped around my body from behind. The solid warm chest pressed against my back and a wisp of blond hair flitted across my knee.

“I am sorry,” he said. “I did not know who I once was.”

I bit my lip because I did not trust my voice not to break if I answered him.

“Lord Eru has sung our song and revealed your existence to me. An existence that Lord Manwë sought to hide. He wanted you on the side of evil, whereas I would have insisted you fight alongside me, had the knowledge of my life not been kept from me. I only know you as being on the side of good.” He kissed my neck. “Mairon, I love you. It breaks my heart to see you grieve. I am so sorry.”

We sat in silence until I could talk. A tear dripped down my cheek and I wiped it quickly away with the back of my hand, hoping that he had not seen it.

“Your look of disgust pierced my heart harder than the sword you thrust into my chest.” My voice was broken, but it was all I could muster.

“I am sorry. When I was Glorfindel I was always on the side of good, just as you were on the side of evil when you were Sauron. I truly believed you were him and I was confused that you would claim to be mine.”

I turned to look at him. “What do you mean, when you were Glorfindel? You still are him.”

“I was remade within the song as Jesse. This is my new existence, just as Mairon is now yours. Sauron and Glorfindel are no more. We are the couple who lived in Greece, who were married, who loved one another, and we will always be them. That is the existence Lord Eru chose for us.”

I turned to face him, my heart secretly rejoicing. I had a few questions first, just to make sure.

“When we were together, how were your ears not pointed like mine?”

“It was deliberate. There were to be no indications that I was ever an elf, just in case you ever remembered who you were. I had no idea of that during my first time as Jesse.”

“What happened to Manwë?”

“He is remade and has the same position as before. Let us hope he is not as scheming as he once was.” Jesse kissed my fingers. “In fact, not much has changed where the Valar and Maiar are concerned. Evil is gone from Arda and we have peace.”

“Did Lord Eru ever tell you what happened to my brother John or his wife?”

“He never said.”

“Where do we live?”

Jesse smiled. “Come with me.” He led me along the beach, and in the distance I could see a town square. “This is our reality; the place we were happiest.”

Spiro ran to meet us. “Come, my friends. Come and drink with us.” We followed him to his taverna where he introduced us to members of his family going back many generations.

“How is it that humans are remade as well when their souls travelled beyond the outer circles of the earth?” Hope sprang in my heart and my eyes filled with joy.

“All of creation is remade, not just the earth,” Jesse replied. He took a swig of his limonade and grinned. He knew what I was thinking.

We left as soon as was decently possible and ran to the house just outside the village. Everything was the same, except that the hotels and marina were gone. No one would miss them. The landscape was ageless and so seemed the whole town. 

We ran through the open French windows that looked out over the beach. “Dad,” I called as loud as I could. “I am back.” 

My father ran down the stairs, half naked and no doubt hoping I would not go upstairs and accidentally see the man in his bed. He hugged me and said it was about time. He looked as young as when I first met him as a small child, where I knew him as my uncle.

“I am so happy,” I said to him. 

“Everything will be wonderful from now on. The bad do not exist anymore and we all have the chance to live a better life.” My father hugged me again and excused himself. “I have met my first love again. He is waiting for me.” He winked and climbed the stairs.

Jesse took my arm and drew me close. “You are making me wait.”

“I am sorry. Are you not intrigued as to whether you can make contact with your family?”

“Neither of my parents were remade. I only have you.”

“I am sorry.”

A fleeting moment of pain passed over Jesse’s face. “So many are gone forever. I wonder what my mum and dad did that was so bad they were not allowed to live again.”

I wondered if my birth parents were alive, but did not like to voice the question. It would have been insensitive.

“You have me.” I stroked his cheek.

Taking him by the hand, I led the only one I would ever love to our bedroom. It was remade, just how I left it.

“I missed you so much when you died,” I said softly as I removed my clothes. “Every day I would go to your grave and talk to you.”

“Lord Manwë took my soul. I saw your grief before he pulled me away. Lord Námo was angry, but there was little he could do except take me to the Halls. I did not even know I was an elf until I died.”

“You are talking too much.” I kissed Jesse’s lips while slowly moving him onto the bed. 

“So are you,” Jesse mumbled and kissed me again.

Jesse’s hand stroked along my back, while we kissed with increasing frequency. I could not get enough of my love. He bit hard into my shoulder muscle, rolling it between his teeth, and I moaned at the shocks that coursed through my being.

“On your knees,” Jesse ordered. He took the lube from the bedside table and kissed my swollen lips, His face was wanton and sweaty and his body glistened in the light shining through the window.

He entered me from behind. I held onto the headboard, feeling him entering and withdrawing, sometimes thrusting in hard and enjoying my gasps. His balls slapped my arse cheeks as he rammed home, speeding up, holding onto my shoulders as he did so. One hand took hold of my hard cock and the feeling was too much. The line of pleasure and pain blurred at the tightening in my belly and my closed eyes clenched in orgasm. Jesse came a few seconds after.

Both our souls rose together and we appeared before Elbereth, who joined us in union forever.

I slumped down on the bed, with Jesse lying on top of me, breathing heavily and murmuring how much he loved me.

“I love you too,” I told him. “I have my husband back and that was all I ever wanted from my last life to this.”

Jesse moved to my side and pulled the sheet over us. “You can have me now. Then you can have me again tonight, and in the morning, and tomorrow evening...”

I laughed and pulled him closer.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Tenna' san' – Until then.


End file.
